


Exotic Remedies

by RisingEmpress



Series: Exotic Remedies [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Although they do cuddle, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Coerced Kinks?, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Edging, Eventually enthusiastic consent, Forced Orgasm, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal calls Will pet names a lot, Hannibal is a sadist, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnotism, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Praise Kink, Psychological Trauma, Sadism, Sensory Deprivation, Sick Will, Slow Build, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Will has a problem with the cannibalism, Will is a masochist, comfort kink, induced panic attacks, this is not a fluff fic, two idiots in love, will has a lot of problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-21 10:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingEmpress/pseuds/RisingEmpress
Summary: There’s a thought so severe. So revolting it’s expelled before it has time to fester in my brain.How you are not a victim. But a participant.With no obstacles or intrusions a relationship is free to blossom in its undisturbed solitude. What that relationship may entail shouldn't be entirely shocking.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Exotic Remedies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539961
Comments: 31
Kudos: 99





	1. Maquis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pensee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/gifts).

> Initially I wanted to write this like a script until I realized I have absolutely no idea how to do that, so here we are in this strange mix. This is my first attempt at this so please let me know if it's readable. I do apologize for mistakes and hope they aren't insufferable, this is my second language and I'm not fortunate enough to have a beta reader. :)
> 
> Inspired by Ezra Blake's Claustrophilia.  
~ Will add warnings to the beginning of every chapter if it's not in the tags, but know there are some questionable actions you're about to embark on. Enjoy nonetheless.

_ I am your witness that blood and flesh can be trusted,_ _and only this one holy medium brings me peace of mind._  
_\- Maynard James Keenan_

Will doesn’t deny he chose Hannibal in death, but violently resents his resurrection. It’s the sight of a severed limb cooked to perfection that poses the challenge to overcome; for Will to accept his choices with air in his lungs and Hannibal by his side. He’s been graced with such a romantic setting; candles lit along the dining table as the sunset glows burning orange through the windows. Will finds it awfully desperate.

H: Burdock was believed to carry magical powers of protection and healing. Wearing a necklace made of the root gathered during the waning moon would protect the wearer from evil.

Hannibal speaks matter of factly as if he still has a protective guard up, and Will only returns the favor by warily staring at his plate. Every piece of delicate meat and garnish is presented with elegance and complete pretentiousness. Hannibal is still eager to impress. Will wants to vomit, but merely glares. He certainly doesn’t feel the need to be protected from evil, not when it’s smiling and joining him at the table.

H: It is more commonly praised for arterial healing. Cleansing of blood and an appetite stimulant.

W: Ah.

Will smiles halfheartedly in bitter realization, although it’s not enough to guide his hands to close around silver cutlery. Hannibal’s glass hovers in the air for a second, as if he’s waiting for Will to lift his own in a toast, but he’s met with only rolling eyes.

W: A remedy for two in one. I was only aware of it being an aphrodisiac.

He’s not entirely shocked Hannibal neither confirms nor denies his broken heart, and picks shamelessly at the meat with his fork with a smile tugging at his lips. He might as well have thrown the plate at Hannibal’s desperate face.

W: You’re treating me like a possession. If you are to _ own _ me you should know I have a will of my own.

H: A possession can be replaced. And your will has left us both wounded.

The careless tone sticks to Hannibal’s voice as if his confessions were nothing. The doctor wasn’t walking with a limp anymore, and had reclaimed his mobility by taking away his psychiatrist’s. Though Will can tell Hannibal is hurt. Perhaps even offended death was the means to Will’s acceptance. He drinks nonetheless.

W: If I’m... irreplaceable, then there are no true consequences to my actions.

H: Or just not the one you imagine.

W: This should be a punishment then. Not a demand.

H: I never said it wasn’t.

W: For what?

Hannibal makes a questioning hum, making Will’s jaw clench. Of course the sadistic bastard wants him to acknowledge who’s got the power to punish whom.

W: What are you punishing me for?

H: This fall was the result of your becoming. You still can’t face the truth buried deep within.

W: This isn’t going to help change my mind.

H: Perhaps it will.

W: What, are you going to belt me, Hannibal?

Hannibal almost smiles. Will regrets putting the idea in his head.

W: That’s not- That wasn’t-

H: An invitation?

W: No.

H: Finish your dinner, or would you prefer the alternative?

W: No.

Will goes to bed hungry. It keeps him from sleep, tears welling up as he imagines taking a bite of the exotic fruits Hannibal keeps downstairs. Will doesn’t even know the name of it, yet he can already taste it. Or the loaf of bread with raisins. Butter. He sobs when Hannibal’s arms wrap around him and pull him closer.

H: Your free will has disappointed you again. Your pain is by your own making.

Will cries, subconsciously hiding his face in Hannibal’s neck from shame or exhaustion. Or comfort. Hannibal’s voice is low and intoxicating.

H: Sleep, my darling.

~

Morning comes with clarity. Refusing to indulge in cannibalism couldn’t possibly last. Not with Hannibal. For morality’s sake he’d like to believe he doesn’t have a choice, but the truth is something else entirely.

Will smells coffee, eggs and grapefruit when he wakes up. It sends him bolting downstairs, head pulsating violently and hands shaking with low blood sugar. He feels sick. Hannibal has only prepared one plate, and when Will reaches out for a fruit Hannibal stops him.

H: Good morning, Will.

W: Please.

Tears threaten to spill over again. They definitely will if he’s not allowed something to eat. Anything.

Hannibal doesn’t dignify his pleas with an answer, he just guides him to the table with a hand by his neck and bends him over it. Will would feel shame if he wasn’t desperate.

H: It was your decision to take me down with you. Your actions weren’t just to hurt yourself, but me as well.

W: You’re one to talk.

Will hears the sound of leather hitting skin before he feels it. It’s numbing at first, but the second cuts deeper. The third activates his muscles into movement, squirming on the wooden table.

W: Fuck you.

It’s of no use but it’s all that Will can think, it’s the only words that swirl around in his head. Even more so when Hannibal continues. It’s ridiculous, and Will wishes he would melt into the wood.

Will is holding on to the table now, it keeps his knees from giving out completely and he stays in position even has Hannibal takes a seat by the table. Obedient or anticipating, he only dares to breathe. 

H: I don’t appreciate vulgarities, even if you are in a state of vulnerability. I expect more from you, Will.

Hannibal’s gaze cuts deeper than the belt, and Will finds himself nodding and whispering a halfhearted apology in agreement. He can smell coffee.

H: I can’t hear you.

W: I’m sorry.

His apology certainly isn’t sincere, but Hannibal doesn’t seem to care. It’s only to humiliate, as if punishing him like an insolent child wasn’t enough. Will can’t deny it’s working. There are no strings holding his body down, yet he feels inescapably trapped. The blood rushing down his body in arousal is only an added mortification.

H: You will need to stay out of the sun today. A sunburn is already threatening.

~

Hannibal is sketching outside. It’s warm. Will feels fuzzy as he collapses book in hand onto the ground. Hannibal acts nonchalantly; only dragging him up to his knees and out of the sun. Will leans against the doctor’s leg, uttering words he has no control over.

W: Please, Hannibal.

H: Please what?

Will would cry if he could. It’s not only the hunger now, it’s how it’s diminished.

W: I’ll eat whatever you want me to.

His words come out in a slur, hands tightening around the material of Hannibal’s pants. He’s close to collapsing again, if hope didn’t keep him up.

Hannibal’s attention feels like something to be treasured, and Will feels like one when he’s being guided into the kitchen with a strong arm around his waist. He’s so overcome with gratitude he doesn’t react when Hannibal pulls his pants down again.

H: I want you to stay still for me.

The blade in Hannibal’s hand spurs a flight or fight response, but he contains it and follows instructions in blind hope. There’s a peculiar intensity in Hannibal’s expression; upper lip giving a twitch that hints of terrifying excitement.

W: Hannibal-

The pain he’s carried around is finally released when the blade sinks into his thigh, drags along until a chunk is freed from his body. A bizarre weight is lifted from his shoulders. Will is too frozen in shock or pain to react, and only watches Hannibal taste him with an apparent arousal of excitement. Something so forbidden, so foreign even to Hannibal. So brutally primal.

Will feels death’s presence.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t object. Survival instincts or maybe even a morbid curiosity allows him to follow Hannibal’s lead and clench teeth around himself when Hannibal offers him.

The euphoria is short lived. Will only sees red on Hannibal’s lips and taste himself on his tongue before he clutches the sink and wretches. It’s red and pink.

~

H: You have a fever.

Will awakens to the same hunger, cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck soaking the pillow. His thigh feels tight.

W: It’ll pass.

He feels clearer now. With his wound wrapped and body cocooned in soft blankets he is in no immediate harm. And as he suspected, by following Hannibal’s lead he’s granted his wishes by a plate on the nightstand. Grapes, two scones and a cup of tea swirling with a comforting fume. No meat in sight, only comfort and a symbol of triumph. Will believes it’s a mockery.

H: I took the liberty of giving you an ice bath.

Hannibal’s focus is elsewhere, anywhere but Will. He looks disappointed. Will couldn’t care less.

H: You were overheated. I suggest you rest, Will.

That’s all he cares to say before leaving him alone, and Will feels anger building up inside as he looks to the plate by his side. This didn’t feel like a victory.

Will amuses himself thinking about his weakness being his own humanity. Hannibal only challenges him physically, not psychologically. Not directly, anyway.  
Hannibal is as aware as Will that his unique neurology is what poses a threat.

Hannibal must not be adapted to indulge his mind in this moment, then. He must only feel capable when Will is betrayed by his body, and perhaps that was always the case.

Will instantly feels better, although the scone tastes bitter.

Will stays in bed for as long as he can. After all, Hannibal had advised him to rest. And there was something satisfying about not immediately seeking Hannibal out.. Whatever he may be doing, it didn’t concern Will anymore, for he was already stuck in the web.

He feels dramatic when consciously eating slowly, treating himself like a starvation victim. It’s slow enough that the honey sweetened black tea has dropped in temperature to a disappointing lukewarm.

In the spirit of free will he brings the cup downstairs to heat it in the, Hannibal forbid, microwave. He may not be Hannibal’s patient anymore, but he must look it with a bandaged thigh and fever sweat sticking to his t-shirt and Hannibal’s boxers.

Will doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed that their fall hadn’t majorly changed any dynamics, only intensified Hannibal’s ferocity and consequently, Will’s resistance. If Will didn’t know any better he’d feel pity for Hannibal.

He shivers while watching the cup spin around, listening to the pleasant hum and wishing the doctor wouldn’t come crawling out of whatever crypt he had vanished into. But he does, with an unwarranted but comforting hand brushing through the damp locks of hair sticking to his forehead.

H: You’re very warm, Will. Better get back into bed.

W: You’re very persistent. And transparent.

Will allows the touch, a shiver trailing down his spine and struggling to focus on making himself another snack. Hannibal’s closeness is disorienting, as well as exciting. 

W: I can only guess you don’t want me to know what you’re doing.

H: The possibility that I’m merely concerned for you doesn’t exist to you.

Will scoffs. Hannibal was never concerned for him; his actions regarding Will were only ever to please himself. Even when nurturing or protective, it was for a goal that was something other than Will’s well-being. He hated how much sense it made to him.

W: I’d like to assist you in the kitchen tonight, if you’d let me.

The words surprised Will as he spoke them. He wasn’t sure whether it was gratitude or just wanting to keep a closer eye on his companion who clearly had something to hide. Hannibal seemed pleased regardless, and with that Will retreated upstairs again.

~

H: How do you feel?

Hannibal was confident enough to let Will chop vegetables. Confident in his ability and lack of need for reciprocation by blade. Will had nothing to reciprocate.

W: The fever’s gone down. But there’s still a lingering nausea.

Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes, though he cannot determine whether it’s truly worry or wonder if he’s well enough for whatever Hannibal is planning. Will decides not to care.

H: I sincerely hope this will help with the nausea.

Hannibal is simple. He tells Will about the story of this particular recipe, perhaps unaware of how Will zones out; but still persistent he keep up the pretentiousness. It must be for his own enjoyment. Hannibal’s games may have complications or lead to a conflicted mind but the man himself and his principles; clear as crystal. Will sometimes wished everything wouldn’t be so predictable.

Will feels closer to Hannibal wearing his clothes. They’re a size too big but their presence feels tight enough on his skin. A striking thought makes him audibly chuckle, enough for Hannibal to look at him with a smile of his own.

W: What would you call us now, Hannibal?

H: What do you mean?

Will rolls his eyes. An incurable sadist, not allowing even the smallest of pleasures. Serves him right, he thinks. Stupid question deserves stupid answer. There’s not another soul around for either of them to have to define their relationship anymore.

H: I think there are many answers to that question. What would be yours?

Will is silent. Not because an answer doesn’t rest on the tip of his tongue. It’s the confession that hurts, even if the sincerity is questionable. He slides the blade through the carrots.

W: The wounded and the blade.

They cook in a suffocating silence for a few minutes. Hannibal pours Will a glass of whiskey, knowing he’d prefer it to the wine in this sickened state. The higher the alcohol percentage the more cleansing of the soul and body, bitter to activate a sedating heat rather than a taste for enjoyment. Will isn’t threatened when Hannibal’s lips brush against his neck.

H: You have wounded the two of us.

~

It’s amazing how much meat a limb can offer. Just the thought is overwhelming, and Will struggles to keep his nausea in check as they take their seats at the table. The delicious smell is infuriating, and Will pours his second whiskey down his throat. Hannibal doesn’t stop him when he refills his glass.

H: You are making yourself sick.

W: You’re making me sick.

Will doesn’t have much of a filter to begin with, certainly not with Hannibal and definitely not with alcohol numbing his social skills. He almost rolls his eyes again when Hannibal puts on his concerned face.

H: I only want what’s best for you.

W: Tell me, how is cannibalism what’s best for me?

He’s opened the tap now, and he doesn’t even care. Will can’t figure out if he’s testing boundaries or if it’s genuine curiosity. He has a feeling he already knows what Hannibal is going to say.

H: You made a choice on the edge of that cliff. You decided to indulge in the eternal afterlife with me, but you won’t indulge in this life.

Will resists the urge to leave the table right then and there. He can’t meet Hannibal’s gaze, but he knows it’s smug.

H: Your boundaries are only limitations keeping you from greatness. From broadening your palette. They are not protecting you, but merely keeping you in the dark.

W: I’m not alone in that darkness anymore. You sought to that.

H: As did you.

Something breaks in that moment. Either the nausea passes or the puzzle pieces in Will’s head finally fit, because he eats. Peacefully, savoring every bite in silence and letting his mind go numb.

H: Accept the responsibility for your actions, Will. Accept your desire.

W: My desires are… fuzzy at the moment.

Hannibal is silent for a second or two, and Will wants to smile because as much as Hannibal believes he’s indestructible; Will doesn’t even have to reach or struggle to hurt his feelings. Hannibal may as well have been kneeling and offering an engagement ring, and Will is aware of how delicate the doctor is to rejection.

H: I hope to help you see them more clearly.

Will recognizes the threat and promise for what it is, but lacks the energy to care or worry. He is Hannibal’s entire world. Will’s resistance has never been the outcome of Hannibal’s actions, but his own. He doesn’t berate himself as he enjoys Hannibal’s culinary performance.

~

W: It’s not cold.

Everything feels pleasantly warm and soothing. The lake is still as Will lowers his body into it. He pushes his hands through the water, fingertips trying to grasp the silky surface. They missed the sunset, but Will doesn’t mind the moonlight.

H: I don’t want your fever to return.

Hannibal had been gentle in his objections, but accompanied Will into the water nonetheless. Allowing him free will. Will had to pretend to keep his sanity, and maybe give something of value to keep it.

W: A person without boundaries is a psychopath.

It’s almost seductive. Hannibal seems calm when he walks into the water but stays just out of Will’s reach.

W: Your prodding fingers still poke around in my head. Pinching nerves, leaving bruises and untwisting my knots. Tying new ones.

H: I am intrigued by your mind.

W: Yes.

It would’ve been romantic, if Hannibal had the emotional capacity. He liked to envision himself a romantic, but it was only ever for aesthetics. Will knew however, if Hannibal was capable he’d feel romantic for Will. That was enough for him to close the distance between them.

H: Do you have regrets, Will?

Hannibal returns the gesture of Will’s arms around his neck by linking his around Will’s waist and leaning in until their lips meet. Will knows it’s to manipulate, a mark of possession but Hannibal’s pattern makes sense, it’s simple. And he looks powerful in the moonlight. Will feels relief as they kiss.

W: Not with you.

~

The pain wakes him just before sunrise. His wounded thigh is pulsating underneath a weight that’s squeezing him all over. Strong hands wrap around his bicep, his hips, tightening before stroking in what Will knows is only adoration. 

W: What are you doing?

Will squirms, pinned to the mattress by the doctor intent on appreciating his every limb. It’s painful.

W: Hannibal, stop.

Hannibal responds by squeezing the bandaged wound with a force so fierce Will almost screams in shock. It’s not only painful anymore, it’s the deep violation. The doctor’s fingers are manipulating his nerves, ones that should remain safe and untouched.

W: Stop.

Will is horrified when his own body betrays him, and Hannibal praises the betrayal by stroking him through his boxers as he grows hard.

H: Beautiful boy.

Hannibal’s voice is laced with sleep, whispering in his ear sweet nothings so soothing Will reaches out in the only way he physically can; nuzzling at Hannibal’s jaw and whimpering hopefully. What he’s hoping for he doesn’t know, and doesn’t get an answer until Hannibal has him under a forced but welcomed sleep again.


	2. Noyade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I believe you require _comfort._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter includes non-descriptive vomit and CBT. The torture kind, not therapy. I guess.

Hannibal leaves him in the morning. Will gets to feel the doctor’s hand stroke through his hair as he explains he’ll be back in the afternoon. Will doesn’t listen, but allows himself to enjoy the touch and in a drowsy state, kisses Hannibal’s wrist goodbye.

At a reasonable hour in the morning Will regrets the act of loving appreciation when he sees the bruises on his thigh. He knows Hannibal’s intention wasn’t to frighten or anger him, but it still leaves an unsettling feeling in his gut.

Will wonders how nothing but Hannibal’s hand could possibly leave that kind of mark. Just the sight of it is painful, and yet arousing.

He doesn’t know the exact reason why he jerks off. Or doesn’t want to admit. He only knows he feels lonely in climax.

The day drags on. He eats breakfast outside, reads and takes another swim in the lake. He feels empty. Or maybe just at peace.

Will showers and wonders if he should redress the wound. He decides it’s Hannibal’s job and gets dressed instead before heading downstairs to look for the doctor’s tablet.

He suddenly sees himself being bent in unnatural positions, his body twisted and tied into new knots of pain and pleasure. Hannibal is experimenting. _Rewiring him._ Polishing his edges to fit with Hannibal’s puzzle pieces. Hannibal wants Will to find some sort of acceptance, by any means necessary.

Will suddenly doesn’t want to know where Hannibal is or what he’s intending to do when he gets back.

~

Hannibal lets Will know he’s come home by not making an effort to hide it. Will is on his feet and at the door quicker than he’d imagined, and initially resents the pleased smile Hannibal offers him. Will is painfully aware Hannibal is amused, regarding him as a puppy greeting its master. He expels the thought in self protection.

W: Did you go shopping?

Will frowns at the bags in Hannibal’s hands and follows him back into the living room. Hannibal smiles.

H: I thought it was time you get some clothes of your own.

W: Your clothes or the ones you get for me, is there a difference?

H: If you want it to be.

Hannibal is acting the role of caring spouse, and Will wishes he could appreciate it.

W: Freddie Lounds believes we’re alive.

Hannibal is unpacking groceries as Will peeks inside the bags and runs his fingers over the materials so generously gifted to him. Might as well have got him a prison jumpsuit.

H: What Freddie Lounds believes is what she writes, and that can be damaging.

Will only nods. He doesn’t want to dwell on the possibility they be discovered, that wasn’t what he signed up for when he decided to take Hannibal with him in the fall. That was supposed to put an end to dwelling on anything.

He’s almost thankful when the doctor’s arm is suddenly around his neck with a determined pressure. But he struggles in panic anyway, even if it’s useless he catches Hannibal’s hand between his teeth and tastes blood before his vision is blurred. The last thing he registers is being petted like a dog as his tongue runs over punctured skin.

~

Will feels like a sacrifice when he awakens. The pressure around his neck is still there, mild but threatening in the form of a chain that he controls by standing perfectly still on a wobbly little stool. Hannibal likes to believe Will’s destiny is in his own hands.

W: What is this for?

Will’s voice is understandably strained, and he goes to cover his exposed body only to realize his hands are chained behind his back. He’s disappointed in Hannibal’s lack of imagination.

The doctor ignores him, which sends Will’s leg to kick his chest when he approaches. Will cries out when Hannibal catches and twists his ankle.

W: What the f-

H: Be quiet, Will.

Will sniffs, scowling when thinking if Hannibal would want him to be quiet he could’ve just gagged him. Then he realizes the doctor must know about his... release when he was gone. The fact that Hannibal would go through all of this trouble over something so menial builds up tears of frustration.

H: You nearly drowned, Will. When you took us over the cliff.

W: I wanted to.

Hannibal whips him between the legs with something sharp and thin, and Will finally screams.

H: Drowning is a horrible death.

W: I didn’t- I don’t care.

Will loses his balance at the second strike, putting weight on his injured foot and losing grip; hanging by the chain for a second before finding his footing again. He soaks up air and flinches before nothing.

H: Yet here you are fighting for your life.

Will can’t look Hannibal in the eye. He only sees the black waves, heavy and menacing, promising to take him under. Hannibal brings him back by tapping the cane between his legs a few times, hard enough to leave more marks. Long red stripes now coat his cock and he cries, twisting in desperation.

H: You want to feel such sweet and easy peace. You don’t see the possibility in this life.

Will screams when Hannibal whips his thigh, it’s too much, and he begs to no avail; because Hannibal takes destiny into his own hands and kicks the stool out from under him.

He tries to scream. He feels dark waves in his throat, hears them as they trickle down to fill his lungs. He feels Hannibal’s lips on his, tastes salt and feels smooth rocks beneath him before he can breathe, curled up naked on Hannibal’s basement floor.

H: Stand up, Will.

Will tries to find his way back to where he is, panting and following the only direction he has; Hannibal’s voice. He yelps when he stands and leans against Hannibal’s chest, crying he digs his face into Hannibal’s neck to find stability. Hannibal allows him, calmly removing the chains from his body before simply going upstairs again. He doesn’t support Will as he struggles to walk, but waits patiently for him to reach the top of the stairs.

Not knowing what else to do, Will limps as he follows Hannibal to the living room.

H: Come here, my _darling._

Will wishes he wouldn’t find the words so comforting, but he sniffles and sobs for more of it as Hannibal sits on the couch and has Will stand pitifully between his legs.

H: Poor boy..

The tears are unstoppable now, when Hannibal purrs soft words and goes through his first aid kit. Will is unaware of how he relishes in the attention, treasuring every bit of it until the doctor wraps a slick hand around his lacerated cock.

When Will tries to pull away, he's only successful in causing himself more pain. The doctor keeps a firm hold around him and his squirming only sends a shock of pain through his ankle. Hannibal keeps him steady with a hand on his hip.

H: Stay where you are, Will. Your injuries need to be tended to, or they will only get worse.

Will can’t speak, can’t think. He can’t even feel ashamed by how his body responds positively to Hannibal’s touch. All he knows is pain. His skin is on fire, and Hannibal is playing with it, expertly stoking the flame to release until Will moans in a mix of extremes.

W: Hannibal..

The doctor keeps him in position, stroking him still with calming cream and cum. Will has never felt so dirty and treasured.

He zones out when Hannibal removes the bandages on his thigh and runs his fingers along the stitches before wrapping his ankle. New injuries for a new day; Will finds the whole ordeal predictable.

H: I want you to go upstairs and rest, Will.

W: It- It hurts to walk.

H: I’m sure you can manage a few steps.

Will wants to cover himself, wants to shower and hide. So he limps over to the stairs and begins his journey. Of course, Hannibal is watching. Incurable sadist.

H: And Will, I would advise you to keep your wounds as they are. They will heal faster if you leave them be.

Will doesn’t bother answering, and despises himself when he curls up in bed in the same state Hannibal had left him.

~

Sleep only graces him for an hour or two. Remarkably, he isn’t met with tremendous pain as he blinks awake. Following a doctor’s advice might be in Will’s best interest, but it was still infuriating.

Will remembers the bag of clothes Hannibal got for him and frowns when the bags aren’t in the room. Hannibal would’ve brought them upstairs so Will could appreciate them when he woke up.

W: Hannibal?

His ankle even feels steadier as he goes over to the stairs, waiting a few minutes for an answer before going down. If there were clothes that could finally be a possession of his own, he wanted them now more than ever. As he goes through the bags Hannibal’s appearance from behind startles him, and he instinctively backs away with a handful of shirts covering his crotch.

W: Can I put these on?

Even asking is painful. Will sees right through as the sadist tries to contain his enjoyment, eyes glinting with contentment and false concern.

H: Not yet, I’m afraid.

W: Why?

H: It’s better to air out the wounds.

W: I don’t care.

Will takes another step back when Hannibal approaches. He doesn’t mean to, but the peculiar glow in Hannibal’s gaze is penetrating.

H: Will, I would want nothing more than to see you get better. As uncomfortable as it may be, I ask you do as I say.

Will decides what’s making him uncomfortable is being in such close vicinity to the man who just made him orgasm so easily, and then have to ask for permission to get dressed. He drops the clothes and steps away in a huff.

W: How long are you going to keep giving me this illusion of free will?

H: You are free to make your own choices, I am only giving you guidance to make the right ones.

W: You think I need your guidance.

H: Don’t you?

~

In an attempt not to feel self conscious Will drinks whiskey again as they cook. Hannibal is making a spectacle; listening to a pretentious classical suite and telling Will about the flowers in whatever meal he’s making.

H: Dioscorides spoke of the use Borage to comfort the heart, purge the melancholy and quiet the lunatic. 

W: Is that what you think I need, Doctor Lecter? 

Hannibal is nearly beaming. For all the ways they’re alike, the need to put on a show is one of the ways that difference them so greatly.

H: I believe you require _comfort._

The way Hannibal’s tone shifts at the last word sends blood down Will’s body, and he tries not to be too obvious when he moves to the other side of the counter. Hannibal’s every movement through the kitchen is calm and assertive, and Will finds himself mesmerized by the faint raise of muscles underneath the doctor’s white shirt.

W: Everyone does. From time to time.

H: Borage is also a symbol of courage.

Hannibal cooks by himself as Will drinks, the innuendo of his words seeping in like poison. He knows Hannibal likes to perform, so he’ll play the part and observe until the venom claims him and spurs him into action. Hannibal must be bored to bait him like this.

H: You’re frustrated, Will.

He scoffs, reaching out to turn the music off and glare at the back of Hannibal’s neck. It’s not satisfying when Hannibal doesn’t immediately react. Will isn’t sure what would be. He’s aware he’s being pushed, but doesn’t mind it. What he’s not ready to admit is why he welcomes it.

W: Can I get dressed now?

H: No.

W: Please?

H: Don’t think begging will get you what you want.

Will stands silently for barely a second before a poisoned hand puts his glass down and limps over to the bags of clothes on the coffee table. He not surprised he doesn’t make it far until there’s a tug around his bruised neck and he’s pulled to his knees.

W: Don’t-

Hannibal chokes him with the leather leash before releasing it enough to link it to his belt. He whips Will’s back a few times as he catches his breath and he whimpers, pressing against Hannibal’s legs to escape the sting.

H: You will stay quiet and do as I advise.

W: Hannibal, ple-please-

He can’t stop choking himself trying to get away for the cane, so Hannibal simply drags him into the kitchen and ignores him as he’s trapped between the doctor’s legs and the counter. Will only relaxes when Hannibal resuming his cooking.

W: I’m- Let me up.

Hannibal continues to ignore him, and Will starts to panic as his breath bounces from the material of Hannibal’s pants back in his face. He’s suffocating.

W: Hannibal, Doctor Lect- I’m- Please, Hannibal.

This time he gets comfort in the form of a hand through his hair, but now Will can feel Hannibal’s erection, from forehead to chin he’s breathing against it and he squirms.

W: Please.

His pleas go ignored until Hannibal is finished performing.

~

W: I wasn’t aware my wounds were so severe.

Will’s attempt to get attention or stir any emotion at all is muffled against Hannibal’s pants as he sits underneath the table. Will tries not to think about how he’d as a child often found solace under the family dinner table when the pressures of his father’s alcoholism became too great.

His stomach growls with hunger, and he wishes he could at least smell it instead of Hannibal’s crotch. The doctor’s silence should be punishment enough, but every now and then a hand soothes him. Whether it’s fingertips tracing the curls at the back of his neck, the shell of his ear or eyebrows. Will knows Hannibal’s adoration for him knows no bounds, for better or worse.

It doesn’t take long for Will to relax in the darkness, giving up on straining his neck and just nuzzling deeply into Hannibal’s crotch with a sigh. He wonders if the doctor has moved on to psychological experiments for the time being, although he can’t recall sharing any information that would lead him to believe Will would find this relaxing. Humiliation seems too simple of an explanation.

H: Would you like some dinner, Will?

Will discovers he’s nearly asleep when he’s spoken to, and he squirms awake between Hannibal’s legs. His nose rubs against the doctor’s clothed erection as he nods.

H: I can’t hear you.

W: Yes. Please.

H: Or would you like to stay?

Will shakes his head enthusiastically until it feels like he’s just burrowing deeper into Hannibal’s crotch. His voice comes out muffled.

H: Use your words.

W: No, I wanna get up.

He hates how meek he sounds, like the more degrading Hannibal treats him the more he fits the part. He feels better when he’s released and takes a seat at the table, even if he’s bare, blushing deep red and wounded.

H: Try the Borage.

~

As usual, Hannibal doesn’t try to regulate Will’s drinking. It leads to him swaying on his feet as Hannibal sits comfortably on the couch, reading something on his tablet. Will mutters about the cold as he reaches for a pair of pants from one of the bags, but gets distracted by Hannibal patting his lap.

H: Come here then.

Will frowns and sets his glass down next to the coaster before putting on the pants in an act of rebellion. He keeps eye contact with Hannibal as he does, even if the doctor is blurred.

H: Come here, Will.

He can’t make out if Hannibal is hiding something; and if he is Will can’t think far ahead enough to care. Intoxication is freeing in that way. No consequences as far as the drunken eye can see.

W: I’m cold, Hannibal..

Even if he’s uncertain of the doctor’s intentions he still attempts to stroke his ego again by sounding weak and avoiding his eyes as he walks over. His voice only comes out as an obvious whine.

H: Cunning boy.

Will isn’t exactly surprised when instead of being lowered to curl up in Hannibal’s lap, he’s guided to his knees again and pulled in between his legs. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal’s hips even if his affectionate gestures aren’t reciprocated.

H: You think you can avoid consequences with tears. You put yourself in the role of a victim for your own gain.

W: Don’t mean to..

Will slurs the words while not fully registering Hannibal’s. He can only focus on the warmth radiating from one body to another. He doesn’t care about being lectured.

H: Will, how are you feeling?

Hannibal’s voice is soft as silk. His breathing is slow and contagious even as he presses his shoe against Will’s wounded cock. Will both attempts to squirm away as well as nuzzle deeper into Hannibal’s warmth with a pained cry. 

H: Sweet boy. Stay with me.

Will doesn’t mean to whimper when Hannibal takes the pressure away, nor does he mean the frightened whine that escapes his lips when Hannibal traces them with his fingers.

W: I feel like I’m floating.

That’s all Hannibal needs to hear before he guides him upstairs, this time supporting him up the steps even if Will doesn’t necessarily feel the pain in his foot at the moment. He struggles to walk or see straight, and is thankful when Hannibal strips him of the pants again and joins him in the shower.

W: I don’t- Don’t feel well, Hannibal.

H: Let me help you.

Will barely realizes what’s about to happen before it does; he’s on his knees again underneath a warm beam of water and Hannibal guides his mouth to wrap around the head of his cock. Will pushes forward until he gags, and Hannibal continues the movement. It’s overwhelming, and as Will squirms back against the wall Hannibal follows, teasing his gag reflex over and over.

Will can feel it coming; feel it taking over him and Hannibal allows him to push him away as whiskey, meat and Borage spews from his mouth and down the drain. He can see Hannibal’s hand working to reach his own climax as he continues to puke.

When Will leans back against the wall, emptied and crying in shock or pain, is when Hannibal pushes his cock past his lips again and comes. Will knows the doctor relishes in the fact that nothing but Hannibal is in both Will’s head and body in this moment, and he wishes he would be sick again. Hannibal makes a point not to pull out until Will swallows.

~

Hannibal is overbearingly sweet. He carries Will to bed, even gets another blanket for him as he tucks him in. Will can’t deny he feels better, and that’s why he avoids the doctor’s eyes as he swallows down water before curling up.

H: We may want to move locations.

W: I like it here.

H: As do I.

Will’s throat is on fire and he can feel every laceration on his body. He stays as far away from Hannibal as possible, curled up in a ball at the edge of the bed. He decides not to allow Hannibal free will.


	3. Tuer le roi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kill the king._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Non-consensual sexual acts throughout this chapter. The torture & (forced) oral fixation tags really shine in this big, steamy bowl of horridness.

Will feels like death in the morning. And of course, Hannibal has everything planned.

H: You will have to wait until lunch, we must get going.

He feels sick and hungry, hungover and near furious when he sees Hannibal has brought the bags of clothes for him upstairs. Giving him the illusion of choice yet again. Choose from whatever you like, of what I’ve chosen for you.

W: Why can’t you just go without me?

Will is too tired to bite his tongue, and if he would ever be less of a prisoner he’d have to start with at least attempting to break out.

H: I have this day planned for two. Let’s not let yesterday’s choices affect today’s.

Hannibal is packing a bag and ironing his shirt. Will lies back down in bed and pulls the covers over his head.

W: My foot hurts.

H: I can’t hear you from under there.

W: Yes you can.

H: Will, if you’re going to be rude don’t hide. Look at me if you have something to say.

W: No.

Will knows he’s being childish, but it’s satisfying. Right until Hannibal pulls the covers off the bed.

H: You wish to stay?

When asked the question Will has doubts; there’s something interesting in Hannibal not forcing him, but he hears his voice before he can finish the thought.

W: Yes.

H: Very well.

Hannibal wastes no time in tying him to the bed, and Will struggles violently as his limbs are spread out and secured.

W: Don’t you dare leave me like this.

The anger outweighs any emotion when Hannibal pins his thighs apart and pushes a vibrator into him, no lube, no introduction, just intense stimulation forcing Will to scream in pain as his cock rises.

W: Don’t! Fuck. Hannibal, please. It hurts, don’t leave me like this. I’ll go with you.

Hannibal only makes sure the vibrator is deep enough to stay in position while he’s gone before he leans down and kisses Will goodbye. Will bites and glares as the doctor leaves.

As he hears the car pull out of the garage and up the hill is when he realizes his mistake. Attempting to be less of a prisoner had only made him more of one.

He cries and squirms on the bed, trying to press his erection against the sheets to soothe the burning pain or to get some kind of stimulation. The only thing he hears now is the vibration in his body, and feels nothing but pain and pleasure intertwined.

~

It’s almost sunset when Will hears the faint sound of a car again. His eyes won’t focus on anything, but Hannibal has never looked as good as when he finally comes back into the room.

W: Hannibal.

Will is parched. His erection had died out earlier in the day and allowed him a hellish sleep, but the mere sight of Hannibal sends it standing tall and proud again, begging for a release in climax or soothing of wounds.

The doctor prioritizes unpacking his bag, and Will cries in pure frustration as he watches Hannibal put new books on the shelf.

W: Hannibal! 

He doesn’t sound like himself, he barely sounds human and he squirms helplessly for attention.

W: I-I’m sorry, please.

H: I brought you something, Will.

Will feels unspeakable relief when Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed and finally looks at him. There is no empathetic shimmer to his gaze, but Will tries to reach out anyway. He whimpers as the restraints keep him away and Hannibal’s mere scent makes his chest flutter.

H: A book of paintings I thought you might enjoy. However, I’m not convinced you would have much use of it now.

Will’s head feels too heavy on his body, air feels too dry and Hannibal’s hand feels like sandpaper when it wraps around his cock.

W: No, no, no.. N-No, don’t. No..

H: You’ve been hard for hours, Will.

He cries out in pain when Hannibal strokes him, thrashing as much as possible and screams until he tastes blood at the back of his throat. Hannibal’s touch is tight, squeezing and violating, knowingly rubbing flames into Will’s skin.

H: Tell me what you want, Will.

W: Please! Please, p-pleaseplease-

H: Don’t beg.

He cries and refrains from thoughtlessly begging again, now that Hannibal’s hand isn’t moving anymore he gathers himself. Sanity has left him, but pain is sobering.

W: I want to s-see the book. I mean I want t-to hold it a-and look by myself.

H: As you wish.

Will shudders in relief when Hannibal finally pulls the vibrator out of him and undoes the knots around his limbs. He’s so grateful he wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck as he stands. His feet are numb and Hannibal helps him to sit on the edge of the bed instead. Will keeps hugging him even when Hannibal unzips his pants.

H: Open.

Will doesn’t need to be asked twice. If this was all it took to be tended to, and maybe even avoid this to happen in the future, Will desperately takes Hannibal down his throat. His lips are dry and threaten to split over Hannibal’s thickness but he doesn’t care, he only feels hydrated as saliva and precum gather on his tongue.

H: Are you in pain, my love?

Will even makes a noise as he shakes his head, moaning in some kind of need as he tightens the pressure around Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal is still, letting Will do the work and only offers pleasant sounds and a few sweet touches to his face in encouragement. Will gags himself repeatedly, wanting to take Hannibal whole more than anything and only feels peace when cum hits the back of his throat and allows him to swallow greedily.

H: Beautiful boy.

Will whimpers in something near happiness, so starved for attention and the doctor’s comfort that he tries to keep the erection in his throat, sucking softly and not noticing how he zones out.

H: Tell me, Will. Is your mind at peace? Have you seen the possibility in this life?

Will moans involuntary as he nods, sucking as Hannibal goes soft and finally steps away to do up his pants again. Will wants sleep more than anything.

H: Shall we eat?

~

Hannibal lets Will rest on the couch as he cooks, bringing him a glass of water and the book he got for him. Will is thankful as Hannibal gives an approving nod when he asks again if he can get dressed.

Will finally feels human, or more normal as he sits back down and looks through the paintings of the different dog breeds. The colors are soft and uplifting, and his lacerations are finally covered. He relaxes and brings his knees up, doing his best to disappear into the book.

H: Will, come sit.

It’s an hour later when Hannibal wakes him, stroking his hair and seemingly completely enamored. Will puts the book down and joins Hannibal at the table.

H: Are you enjoying your book?

W: Yes, thank you. 

Hannibal is distant, and Will can tell he’s still disappointed he had refused to join him in today’s activities. Will is disappointed too, but the food is delicious and he doesn’t want to dwell on it. Doesn’t want to, but it creeps in as guilt.

H: My pleasure.

W: Where- Uhm, where did you get it?

He knows he shouldn’t, but a part of him suspects Hannibal wants him to. Even if it may anger the doctor it might also bring him peace knowing Will regrets his actions in some capacity.

H: A painter from a town two hours away. He’s well known for raising therapy dogs, and doing their portraits.

W: So you- You spent the day with his dogs?

H: Yes.

Will can’t help but feel cheated. Betrayed by Hannibal or himself, or both. He loses his appetite and leans back, crossing his arms. He has no way of knowing if Hannibal is telling the truth. Either way, betrayal cuts him deeply. Even a cheap one.

He misses his dogs. They’re the big love in his life, his source of stability and happiness. But he had refused the reminding company out of nothing but his own need for independence. He’s angry when he tears up.

H: It would do you good to have faith in me.

Will wishes he could object, walk away or throw his plate in Hannibal’s face. But he knows he’s right. He turns his face away when tears roll down his cheeks.

H: I’m disappointed in you, Will.

The words are worse than anything, and Will has no idea what to do with himself.

H: Come here. 

He cries silently, hesitant in his steps over to Hannibal but relaxes just a bit when he’s in the doctor’s lap, nuzzling into his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt with tears.

W: I-I’m sorry, Hannibal..

H: Hush, my darling. You must be tired.

~

Hannibal is undressing him when he comes back to reality a few minutes later. The fresh sheets are cool and pillows perfectly fluffy. He tries to cuddle into the blankets when his shirt is pulled over his head.

H: Precious boy.

Will hums in tired appreciation, wishing Hannibal would wrap his arms around him and continue to whisper sweet nothings until he falls asleep, but Hannibal’s focus is elsewhere.

When Will hears the familiar sound of a lid he shakes his head, trying to pull the covers over him to no avail. Hannibal easily strokes him again. It feels gentle and calming, and barely painful when his cock grows in Hannibal’s hand.

H: My poor boy. Have you waited patiently for this?

Will can’t answer, he can only press his hips up and moan, occasionally wincing and clutching the sheets tightly.

H: Or perhaps you are in too much pain?

Will whimpers when Hannibal lets go, uncertain of whether to laugh or cry.

W: No, please. I’m- Touch me.

Hannibal clicks his tongue in disapproval as he stands and turns his back to Will, who is too hopeful to even move an inch. Even as Hannibal turns back to him with that thin, threatening cane he stays still and moans appreciatively when his face is buried in Hannibal’s clothed crotch.

H: I want you to tell me if it’s too much, Will.

Will knows Hannibal wouldn’t respect his objections if he had any, and it’s awfully comforting. He finds he’s grateful Hannibal is willing to accept the responsibility, and leave Will to feel unashamed. It’s purifying to scream when Hannibal whips him between the legs again, but he longs to be comforted, whimpering into Hannibal’s crotch.

W: Please, I d-don’t want this.

H: Don’t you?

Hannibal sounds dreamy, sickeningly sweet as he pulls his cock out to rest heavy on Will’s tear-streaked face.

W: N-No.

He cries when Hannibal continues to whip him, threatening to draw blood and finally silences him by sliding his cock into Will’s mouth. Will makes a sick, gurgling noise as he searches for air.

Hannibal taps the underside of Will’s cock, grazing his balls with the cane before harshly bringing it down. Will chokes violently between sobs, trying to pull away but relaxes when Hannibal puts the cane down and places his knees by Will’s head.

H: My poor wounded little bird.

Will wishes he could cry, but the suction makes it physically impossible, and he lets Hannibal fuck his mouth. His own erection is straining, refusing to still and jerks just by Hannibal’s words.

H: Is this what you wanted, my darling?

He can’t bring himself to answer until Hannibal reaches back to slap his burning cock, whimpering and breathing heavily through his nose as he nods over and over again until Hannibal leaves his wounds alone.

Hannibal hums, moving his hips in a slow hypnotic pace and smiling just a little by the noise Will makes when his cock hits the back of his throat. Will knows his face isn’t only red from crying but embarrassment too, and Hannibal relishes. Will can’t muster up the energy to care.

Will barely notices when Hannibal comes, it runs down his throat and he swallows quickly to avoid gagging again. His jaw aches but Hannibal is warm and heavy on his tongue, and he drifts off as the doctor’s intoxicating, loving words wash over him. Will can’t make out what exactly they are, but he feels the strange, overwhelming comfort in them. The last thing he sees is Hannibal’s proud expression as he falls asleep in the doctor’s loving arms.

~

Will is wakes up choking. Hannibal’s cum is thick in his throat and he gags for air, but Hannibal only strokes his hair and waits for him to swallow before he resumes his slow thrusts. Will had brought Hannibal to climax without his consent, even worse; without his awareness.

Panic starts to build up. He feels overpowered with Hannibal on top of him, looking at him with this endless adoration as he mumbles sweet words to him. This wasn’t happening.

Will closes his eyes, whimpers and sucks harder against his will. He is betrayed by Hannibal and himself, and pulls at the ties around his wrists. Hannibal shushes him and doesn’t pull out of his mouth until he is entirely soft.

W: Hannibal-

H: Our nature is not a betrayal, it’s only betrayed by our desire to not follow it.

Will attempts to kick out at the doctor when he goes to stand by the bed, slicking his hand and suddenly stroking Will again.

He screams in agony. The new lashes burn with an intensity that not even Hannibal can soothe, and Will cries and tries to kick Hannibal’s hand away.

W: No, stop! Stop! Hannibal, stop!

H: Will, it can’t possibly be that painful.

Will growls. Hannibal knows exactly how much pain he’s causing him, even if he’s gentle and almost playful in his touches. Will shakes his head furiously and squirms, sobbing uncontrollably.

H: I am only trying to help you.

W: P-Please stop..

His voice shakes and he fights for air between sobs, and turns away from Hannibal’s concerned face. Will knows it’s not sincere, but at least Hannibal stops touching him.

W: Please untie m-me..

H: Calm down, my love.

Hannibal is calm when he kneels over Will again, stroking his tears away with the back of his fingers as he presses his half hard cock between his lips again. Will struggles to breathe through his nose but sucks softly anyway, trying his best to zone out so he doesn’t have to face the fact that his tears have stopped.

When Hannibal whispers what a sweet, good boy he is Will whimpers in pain as he grows hard, and Hannibal does too; pressing his length down his throat.

Hannibal makes an effort to last as long as possible. Whenever Will senses he’s close, Hannibal grips his jaw to keep it still. It’s painful and Will whimpers softly before he’s allowed to comfort himself on Hannibal’s cock again.

When he comes he’s rough; grabbing Will’s hair tightly between his fingers and gags him repeatedly. Will makes embarrassing sounds every time Hannibal hits the back of his throat and swallows quickly, appreciating the soft moan in Hannibal’s climax.

Hannibal’s cock looks nearly as tortured as Will’s. It’s almost purple as Will is untied and pulled to the edge of the bed. Will feels positively groggy as he watches Hannibal get dressed and looks around for clothes of his own. If he was human enough for them, he didn’t know.

~

Will has to fight his way back to himself. Hannibal leaves him to his own devices as he goes downstairs to make breakfast and whatever it is that Hannibal does. Will tries not to care.

He can’t look at his reflection in the mirror when he gets out of the shower. The lacerations burn fiercely in the water and he’s horrified by the sight. The only thing that lifts his spirits as he gets dressed is how clean and neat the stitches are on his thigh. As he combs his hair he tries to convince himself it’s for his own sake and not Hannibal’s.

He’s greeted in the kitchen by a delicious smell and Hannibal’s faint smile, kissing the scar along his forehead before serving breakfast for both of them.

H: You look burdened, Will.

Will is silent as he sits by the table, beginning to eat and staring out into the blooming garden. Hannibal’s voice sounds far away until he’s petted through his hair again to be brought back. Will leans away from the touch.

W: Is it too much to ask to go a day without being psychoanalyzed?

H: I’m only expressing concern.

W: You’re incapable of the feeling.

H: You continue to see the worst in me, even after all this time.

W: More so. After all this time.

Hannibal seems oddly content. A narcissist enjoys hearing others perception of them, whether they be positive or not. Hannibal’s act of being a benefactor in Will’s life is only a game for his own enjoyment.

H: It seems we are getting to know each other with each day. Peeling the skin, you’re frightened by what you find inside. 

Will knows Hannibal isn’t referring to himself, so he leaves the table with his coffee to sit outside with his book. He can’t help but wonder when Hannibal will join him.

~

Will sits alone for what feels like an eternity before he gives up, goes inside to wash his empty coffee cup and purposefully stalls so he doesn’t have to search for Hannibal. The house is unbearably quiet, and he’s soon limping room to room in search of the doctor, until he notices the light in the basement.

He wonders if the chains are still there. If there’s someone else hanging from them. What else did he fail to notice while Hannibal had him relive his near-death experience?

W: Hannibal?

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the sound of an electric saw, but he still makes his way downstairs with uncertain steps. Hannibal puts the foot in his hand in the sink before he turns to face Will with this bizarre look, like he’s expecting something.

Hannibal doesn’t get a chance to say a word before Will runs back upstairs and limps as he backs away from the door with nowhere to go. His breath is panicked, and he sinks to the floor as his back hits the wall. He sees himself swallowing limbs whole, his knife cutting through meat and bone as the saw whirrs in a deafening growl. He had fooled himself, fallen into Hannibal’s games and now; the scales were falling from his eyes. Hannibal had been right all along; they were equals in the madness.

W: N-No, no, don’t touch me. Don’t-

He tries to push Hannibal away as he’s embraced, but when gentle fingers push through the back of his hair and Hannibal kisses the side of his face he breaks down in tears. His hand holds on to the collar of Hannibal’s shirt and he curls up in his arms.

W: Let me go.. H-Hannibal, please. Please.

H: My _precious_ boy, you have nothing to cry about.

Hannibal’s tone is that comforting one, the one that only makes Will cry even more as well as nuzzle deeper into his neck and squirm with need. He feels shattered and continues to sob as Hannibal carries him to the bedroom. Make me whole again, stitch my limbs to yours.

When he’s held tightly in Hannibal’s lap as they sit on the bed is when his grip in the doctor’s shirt relaxes, and he whimpers quietly against his chest.

H: Let me help you.

Will is too exhausted to care about what Hannibal is saying to him, but he knows it can’t be good. He shakes his head over and over, hugging Hannibal tightly and hiding his face against his shirt.

H: Will, you’re safe with me, my darling.

Hannibal’s voice and movements are calming as he pushes a dildo between Will’s lips. It quickly goes down his throat and he gags, trying to squirm away as Hannibal fastens it around his head.

Will’s jaw is already aching in pain, and he panics as he chokes and gags repeatedly, tears streaming down his face he shakes his head and smacks Hannibal’s chest. Every breath causes him to spasm as he’s incapable of relieving the pressure in his throat.

H: Perhaps something less threatening.

Will coughs and gags in aftershock when Hannibal pulls it out, and he pushes Hannibal’s arm away as it picks up a smaller size.

H: Or would you prefer to choke?

W: N-No.

H: Very well.

Will feels delirious, crying and trying to hide his face when Hannibal brushes the head of the dildo almost teasingly against his lips. Hannibal barely has to squeeze his jaw for Will to finally separate his lips and allow the intrusion past them. It only nearly hits the back of his throat, and Will can breathe shakily through his nose as Hannibal secures it.

H: Is that what you wanted, my dear?

Will wants to cry, but he can’t. His suck reflex kicks in subconsciously and he shakes his head, still attempting to squirm away. His hands still grasp Hannibal’s shirt.

H: You seem intrigued by the bigger size.

Will shakes his head furiously and gives up on trying to get away, simply hiding his face against Hannibal’s neck and trying to get used to the object in his mouth. He has a feeling he might as well.

H: Then I’ll ask again, is this what you wanted, Will?

He whimpers when he nods, and sucks softly for comfort.

H: Sweet boy.

~

Will is grateful he doesn’t have to keep eye contact with the doctor as he’s chained to his crotch again. He’s uncomfortable under the table and cold without his clothes, so he nuzzles into Hannibal’s pants and whimpers around his gag.

Hunger makes him ache, and Hannibal has made a salad. Will whines for attention and sucks on his gag when he’s ignored. Exhaustion takes over him and he dozes off in Hannibal’s lap.

H: Are you hungry, Will?

He nods sleepily and blinks awake when the dildo is pulled from his mouth. He only has time to lick his lips and utter Hannibal’s name before he’s filled with Hannibal’s cock. He tries to pull away but barely gets to Hannibal’s tip before the leash chokes him and he goes down again, tears filling his eyes.

Hannibal grabs his hair and encourages him to move, slow and savoring every sensation. Will gags until tears stream down his face and wants nothing but death when he misses the dildo that allows him to breathe. Or when he hopes Hannibal will untrain his gag reflex.

He chokes on Hannibal’s cum, it runs down his chin as well as his throat and Hannibal goes to pull his cock out but only smiles when the leash won’t allow him. He presses his cock against the inside of Will’s cheek as he wipes up the cum with a finger and over Will’s tongue. Will tears up in pure humiliation and whimpers, resisting the urge to bite until Hannibal is soft and pulls out, only to push his balls into his mouth instead. Will is shocked when Hannibal slaps him, and sucks to self-sooth with a quiet whimper.

Hannibal pushes him away only seconds later. Overstimulated and sensitive, Will thinks. As much as it may inconvenience or disappoint Hannibal he’s still human. Will cries out when the doctor squeezes his cheekbones roughly in one hand, choking himself when he squirms until the dildo slides into his mouth again and Hannibal lets go.

Will trembles as he sits silently. His mind is mushy and Hannibal’s hands feel threatening when they stroke through his hair. He tries not to allow frightened whimpers to escape him, and closes his eyes tightly to escape the tingling sensation of arousal from deep within.


	4. Héliotrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We all wonder where we go when we die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter includes punching. Knock 'em alive.

Hannibal leaves him the following day. Will wants to be relieved. He doesn’t think about anything when he puts on one of Hannibal’s shirts. Purposefully, his mind is blank as he goes downstairs.

_I will return in the afternoon. Please go upstairs when I do and wait until I collect you. I’ve left my box for you, take care of yourself while I’m gone.  
\- Hannibal_

Will doesn’t want to think about what Hannibal will be bringing home, but the truth lingers as an ache in his stomach. Instead he wonders what box Hannibal was referring to.

He frowns as he eats breakfast outside, staring out to the quiet lake and bringing his knees up to his chest. The medical box or the one under the bed? Last time Will tended to himself he was hanged and whipped for his crimes. He shudders as he goes back inside.

Hannibal is annoyingly organized. The box of medical tools and the one with horrifying looking ones look very similar. The contents of both makes Will uneasy, and he decides to have a look through just to prepare himself for any ideas Hannibal might have in the future. He’s aware Hannibal wouldn’t have his most prized tools available for Will to investigate, but it was certainly better than nothing.

Pliers, different shapes and sizes of vibrators and dildos, an expensive looking variety of bindings, needles, a vast variety of gags, some intimidating looking devices that he can’t name, gauze, and a knuckle duster. Out of all the tools, the last one is what makes Will stand up and back away from the boxes. Why on earth would Hannibal have that in there? It definitely doesn’t belong in either of the boxes. He picks it up and cringes at the weight of it before suddenly shoving it into the pocket of one of his pants in the bag Hannibal got for him.

Will decides he doesn’t need to be taken care of today and shoves the box underneath the bed and brings the medical one downstairs to its rightful place. He tries to forget what he’s trying to hide.

~

H: Will?

Hannibal lets him know he’s come home, and Will is waiting upstairs as asked. It would’ve been annoying to follow Hannibal’s orders if Will was clueless as to what Hannibal was bringing home.

H: Come downstairs, Will.

_Is he crazy?_

Will scowls when he hears footsteps approaching and stares at Hannibal in disbelief when he enters the room.

H: Something wrong?

W: Just because I tolerate doesn’t mean I want any active part of it.

H: Believe in the best of me, Will. Just as I believe in the best of you.

Will rolls his eyes but takes Hannibal’s hand and follows him downstairs. He doesn’t realize how he’s hiding behind the doctor until he hears the familiar sound of paws on the floor. A beautiful border collie runs up to greet him and he’s on the floor in a split second, laughing and hugging the dog, ruffling her fur and kissing her nose. Telling her what a good dog she is, he nuzzles her fur happily.

Hannibal seems pleased as he pours himself a glass of wine and loosens his tie. Will doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or enamored by the fact that Hannibal got dressed up to pick up a dog, but he goes over to him and wraps his arms around his neck anyway.

W: Thank you.

Tears of happiness well up in his eyes and he squeezes the other man tightly, letting himself be kissed and hides his blush against Hannibal’s shirt.

H: Believe it or not, my dear. I value your happiness.

~

Will plays in the sun with the dog for hours. She runs laps around him and he pulls playfully at the stick between her teeth. They go swimming in the lake, he gets scratched in the water but doesn’t even notice. She runs inside and rolls around on the rug before Will has a chance to dry her.

H: Your friend seems to have claimed the rug.

W: This isn’t your house, Hannibal.

Will finally catches the dog in a towel and ignores Hannibal’s voice from the kitchen. He blow dries her fur until she’s warm and dry again and kisses her nose. He hisses when Hannibal is suddenly behind him, grabbing his hair tightly and yanking him back. The dog whines and cowers for the alpha. Will only growls.

H: Have you treated your wounds?

W: No.

He tries to pull Hannibal’s hand away but only winces when it hurts him instead, and he doesn’t think when he hits Hannibal’s leg.

H: Then I believe it’s time we do.

W: No, H-Hannibal, please. Please!

He’s ignored and dragged into the kitchen on his feet, thrown against the counter as Hannibal punches him in the abdomen. Will loses his breath and barely has time to shield himself before he’s hit again, crying out in pain and doubles over at the third strike. He coughs and sniffles, saliva running from his mouth and shaking as Hannibal steps closer.

W: N-No, don’t. Don’t..

The bizarre thought that Hannibal doesn’t need tools enters his mind, and he twists in panic when the doctor reaches down his pants and squeezes. Will shakes his head uncontrollably, crying as his wounded cock is freed from his pants and Hannibal’s fist collides with it.

W: N- Hannibal! P-Please!

He chokes when he’s punched again, crying when Hannibal plays with him, slaps his tortured cock around over and over and squeezes it. He feels faint, numb and over sensitive all at once. He chokes on air and doesn’t even register how Hannibal slicks his hand with the cream and strokes him. It’s all painful.

W: _Hannibal.._

His head rolls around without his control, drooling and choking on saliva. He flinches when Hannibal slaps his cock again.

H: Stay with me.

Will can’t do anything but utter Hannibal’s name. Over and over he begs and watches with a blurry vision as Hannibal removes his tie. He’s panting and leaning his head against Hannibal’s chest as his hands are tied behind his back. He hadn’t even used them.

W: H-Hannibal..

He sounds intoxicated, slurring words he can’t explain and tries to nuzzle deeper into Hannibal’s chest, soaking the white shirt in saliva and tears. His brain sends his tongue to investigate, or it’s a gesture of affection, panting desperately with Hannibal’s heartbeat in his mouth. But Hannibal doesn’t reciprocate or acknowledge, he only turns his back on Will.

W: Please..

H: What do you want, Will?

He cries when Hannibal just resumes his cooking, flipping something in the pan before reaching back to slap his cock again. It’s hard now, and jerks for more attention even if Will doesn’t.

H: Use your words.

W: D-Don’t, please.

Another slap forces the words out of him, although he doesn’t even know what they mean. He whimpers pitifully.

W: H-nn, Ha-annibal- P-Please don’t touch me a-any more.

H: As you wish.

Will doesn’t know what to do when Hannibal respects his wishes. His breath is heavy and shaky with fright, but he follows Hannibal to the table when he’s told. He’s nauseated, insides cramping from the impact but flutter with hope that Hannibal will heal him.

H: How are you feeling, Will?

Will both recoils and shivers in pleasure when Hannibal sits down and strokes the tender spots on his stomach. Perhaps checking for internal damage, but Will closes his eyes and doesn’t feel exposed where he’s standing next to Hannibal’s chair with his horrifying erection pulsating violently in the air.

H: Will?

He unbuttons Will’s shirt and leans in close to brush his teeth against his skin, kissing threateningly over the blooming bruises.

W: I-I’m- I feel like I could burst. Or break. I don’t- I don’t feel.. well, Doctor Lec- Hannibal. Please.. Please.

He relaxes slightly when Hannibal strokes gently over his chest, down his hips and stripping him out of his clothes. Will doesn’t know what to do with his hands free, so he holds on to Hannibal’s sleeve and stays by his side.

H: Let me help you.

~

Will fights the urge to close his eyes and let sleep take him away. The water is warm and surrounds him in a comforting embrace. He doesn’t trust the way Hannibal massages his scalp, but his eyes fall shut anyway.

H: Tell me what’s on your mind, Will.

W: I’m wondering... what boundaries you will cross when this is over. How this plays into that.

Will sighs, tensing when Hannibal rubs the muscles at the back of neck. Hannibal wants him awake and lucid. Maybe simply because Will doesn’t.

W: I’m wondering if you will drown me, have me bleed, bathe in my own blood or suffocate under the surface again.

H: You said you wished to drown. The possibility of death didn’t scare you, but gave you peace.

W: Yes.

H: Does the thought repulse you now, Will?

He avoids Hannibal’s eyes, seeing bruises and angry marks on his body as he stares into the water. He’s never looked so alive. Colorful even, painted with horror and beauty.

W: Death isn’t repulsive. It’s the unknowing of what comes after.

Hannibal is calm, or at least that’s what he wants Will to believe. It doesn’t matter to Will if he is.

H: We all wonder where we go when we die.

Will feels small when he hugs his knees to his chest, and wishes the doctor’s touch along his muscles in his shoulders wasn’t so relaxing.

W: I wonder what comes next. With you.

Hannibal smiles.


	5. Cyprès

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Always and eternally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-descriptive vomit. Let's keep it light.

Will decides to name the dog Luna. She wakes him in the morning by jumping up on the bed and Will is too tired to reprimand her. He scratches behind her ears and leans over to rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder.

W: What are you reading?

H: Nothing of importance, I’m afraid.

The doctor smiles as he puts the book away and leans down for a kiss. Surprised, Will runs his fingers through Hannibal’s hair and hums happily until the dog interrupts them by wriggling out from between them and onto the floor.

Will gets up before Hannibal, getting dressed and attempts to tame his locks with a brush before following Luna downstairs. He lets her out to the garden as he starts packing for a picnic.

Hannibal doesn’t seem to be as appalled as Will by his actions.

~

They spend the day mostly walking, having lunch on the other side of the lake and Will plays with the dog more than anything. Her excited energy take a lot to tire out, but Will smiles throughout the day. If Hannibal is displeased, he’s keeping it to himself. Will doesn’t care if he is.

H: I know how you enjoy the sun.

Will only replies in a hum, petting his dog as the three of them sit in the grass. Hannibal believes it’s time they move on. Will doesn’t want to discuss where or when.

H: We have already risked exposure.

W: You could find out. Whether we’re safe here.

Hannibal looks intrigued, a faint smile settling over his features.

W: Or make sure we are.

H: Do you have something particular in mind?

W: I’m sure if anyone does it’s you.

Will is fully aware how obviously he strokes Hannibal’s ego, but even if Hannibal was aware too he’d still have to prove he was worthy of being held in such high regard.

H: I can’t make any promises.

W: Just as long as you’re looking.

~

Will feels balanced when he’d cuddled in Hannibal’s arms in the warmth of their bed. He dozes off listening to the doctor’s heartbeat and soft words, whispered to him along with loving kisses to his hair. He wants to stay like this forever, but freezes when the knuckle duster is pulled out of his pocket and onto Hannibal’s fingers.

H: Does this frighten you so much, Will?

Will can’t speak. He closes his eyes and puts on a show; squirming in Hannibal’s arms and hugging him.

W: Please don’t.

He kicks Hannibal away as he’d flipped onto his back and receives a blow to his thigh in return. The metal is sharp and sends searing pain to spread across his leg, and he tries to fight as he’s tied to the bed. His efforts don’t even convince himself.

H: As much as I may push your boundaries you are as thrilled to push mine. Your free will is holy to you.

W: I must be a masochist to still be here.

He feels insane as he laughs. Bitter and knowing. Hannibal sees him, not just the complexity of his mind but indulges him in it. Hannibal experiments not to understand, but for Will.

H: Suffering is liberating.

Hannibal caresses his chest as the brass hits his side, and Will wants to wrap his legs around the doctor’s waist.

H: You can empathize with the cause of your pain, even like this. You know the peace it brings. The silence.

W: Y-Yes..

It’s more of a moan than anything. Hannibal’s knowledge of Will’s body and mind is invasive as well as it’s intoxicating, and he finds he revels in the violation. He doesn’t know if it’s something Hannibal dragged out of him or taught him, but when Hannibal slips between his legs he finally gets to wrap them around him.

H: Tell me what you want, Will.

W: God, I want you. I want you everywhere, constantly. In my head and inside of me with whatever you give me. I want you and only you.

H: Beautiful boy.

He doesn’t know where the words come from but he knows they’re true, and he cries out in relief when Hannibal’s tongue tease around his hole before slipping inside. All he can think is Hannibal, his name swirls around in his head over and over, and he finally feels fulfilled.

He can’t control his body anymore so he doesn’t even try to hold back moans as his hips jerk and squirm against Hannibal’s touch. He almost shouts when Hannibal swallows his cock as he stretches him with three fingers. He’s warm, wet and stimulated in all the right places, as well as a dull ache lingers in his leg and side.

W: I’m gonna- Oh. Please. I’m close- If you- Hannibal..

Hannibal only tightly grabs the mark on his thigh as he pulls off to his tip, roughly running his tongue over it and grazes his teeth along the length. Will feels unconsciousness flickering, threatening to take him over.

W: Hannibal..

Skilled fingers brush against his prostate as Hannibal takes him down his throat, keeping him there and swallowing repeatedly around the head until Will comes with a desperate sob. Overwhelmed, he both grinds his hips up and down as well as pull on the ties around his wrists.

He shudders in delicious aftershocks as Hannibal’s lips stay wrapped around him, slowly moving up and down his length before pulling away. Will lets his eyes fall shut, panting and trembling with the effort as he squeezes his thighs around Hannibal’s waist.

W: I-I’m not wounded, Hannibal..

His voice comes out dreamy. Will feels incredibly lucid and distant all at once. He can feel Hannibal, so intimately and intensively, but his violation flashes before his eyes. Hannibal may be the target of his confessions, but it’s only to ease the pain of realization.

W: I’m not your shattered teacup, I’m not helpless or tortured. I just-

Hannibal comforts him by stroking his hips, the touch a promise his intentions aren’t abandonment.

H: Find enjoyment in martyrdom.

Will confirms only by a smile. No one could silence his mind like this, stimulate his nerves and twist his soul in the most horrific ways. No one, but Hannibal.

H: You’re safe with me, Will. Always and eternally. Even in death.

~

It’s late in the evening when Will hears crying. He’s dozed off in Hannibal’s lap on the couch and looks around in confusion. Hannibal lets him up and watches in a matching frown as Will kneels by Luna’s figure, wheezing and crying.

W: She’s- I don’t know what’s wrong with her!

Hannibal crouches next to him, trying to find a wound or the source of the dog’s pain without success.

H: Whatever it is, it’s internal.

W: We need to get her help.

Will feels tears threatening to spill over, trembling as he tries to soothe his friend.

H: We risk expose.

W: I don’t care!

~

Hannibal comforts Will as they’re told Luna suffers a violent virus. When Hannibal explains where they got her, the veterinarian tells them other dogs that come through there have had similar complications. Will knows the truth, and frankly feels offended Hannibal still can’t own up to his games.

W: How long- Uhm, how long does she have?

Will swallows down tears. The sound of his friend’s suffering and the saddened mask on Hannibal’s face is too much. He wishes Hannibal would value his happiness less.

~

The house feels tainted now. It doesn’t smell like home when Will steps through the door and the sight of his dog’s food bowl in the kitchen is like a stab. He wants a cigarette, but settles for a glass of whiskey and brings the bottle with him to sit outside in the darkness.

Hannibal knows better than to touch him. He just sits by his side and leans back, looking up at the stars.

W: Never do that to me again.

Hannibal is silent for a second, and Will knows he’s watching him now. Waiting for his explosion.

H: Never do what, Will?

Will grinds his teeth and laughs bitterly. It’s astounding how Hannibal continues to put up an act, even if he’s fully aware Will sees through the mask. He drinks steadily to escape.

W: I see you, Hannibal. You know as well as I there’s no use in hiding anymore.

H: What do you see?

Will lets out a shaky sigh. Playing is exhausting, and he feels a fever coming on. Hannibal’s need for Will to illustrate his image of him is constant and tiresome.

W: A sadist. Incurable and predictable.

H: There is comfort in the predictable.

Will wants to disagree, but just sits quietly and stares into nothing. Hannibal sees the stars, Will refuses.

W: We’re cut off from the world. Living in one by your creation. God’s jealousy still demands my blind faith, and devours any other distraction.

H: Other influences.

W: _Influences._

Will scoffs, angry as he wipes away tears with his sleeve. He wishes Hannibal will leave him in the morning so he can too.

H: I have always protected you, Will.

W: Like Satan.

~

An intense nausea wakes him in the middle of the night. He feels dizzy as he staggers into the bathroom and pukes, breathing shakily and lingering there. He shakes with cold and leans back against the wall. The bottle of whiskey flickers in his memory, but he sees himself grabbing it before Hannibal would’ve had a chance. He must’ve prepared this for longer than Will had thought.

Hannibal’s hand meets his forehead and he spitefully pulls away from the touch, panting shakily and trying to focus his gaze on Hannibal’s face.

W: Did you give me what you gave Luna?

H: You’re burning up, Will.

Will responds with a fist to Hannibal’s face. His jaw tightens in anger and he subconsciously cowers on the floor, staring at the thick blood that comes pouring from Hannibal’s nose. It only fuels Will’s fury how the doctor’s expression doesn’t change. He begins to stand, leaning on the wall as his teeth grind in cold. He refuses Hannibal’s help back into bed, and cries under the covers.

H: My poor boy.

Will pushes Hannibal’s hand away as it strokes through his hair, and squirms when he’s embraced.

W: Don’t.

H: Wounded little bird, let me take care of you.

W: N-No, Hannibal.

He can’t find the strength to struggle as Hannibal cuddles him close, he only sniffles and pushes at the doctor’s chest whilst breathing in his scent.

H: You’re safe with me, my love.

It’s overwhelming when Hannibal keeps whispering gentle words, reassuring and enchanting, gracing his cheek with his fingertips and running his thumb along Will’s lips. He separates them and sucks tightly when Hannibal pushes in. He falls asleep to Hannibal’s voice, like a drumbeat in the distance.


	6. Quid pro quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I suspect it has for some time._

Will doesn’t feel better in the morning. He knows he had betrayal coming, but it still hurts. He’s nauseated when Hannibal enters the room.

H: How are you feeling?

Will mutters and uses every ounce of strength to turn his back on Hannibal’s concerned face. A cheerful Chaffinch sings tauntingly from the trees outside, and the sun burns Will’s eyes with a fierce persistence. Will was surely bitter before Hannibal, but not the embodiment of it.

W: You know what you gave me. You know what it does better than anyone, doctor.

He swats Hannibal’s hand away as he checks his temperature and hides his face against the annoyingly soft pillow, hoping to smother himself. Hannibal traces the dark curls by his temple anyway, and Will wishes he had the strength to sink teeth into loving fingers.

H: I’ve only come to help make you feel better.

W: I don’t even want to imagine how you would go about doing that.

Will finally gets the satisfaction of hearing Hannibal sigh, but the aftertaste is sour.

H: I can help you, if you’d let me.

W: I don’t need your help.

H: What do you need?

Will pulls the covers over his head.

W: Solitude.

~

After spending the day in bed not only from weakness but out of spite, he decides to get up when the sunset glows through the window. His legs tremble when he gets dressed, and he has to hold on to the wall to keep balanced. The illness is only angering him now, and he refuses to be its victim as he goes downstairs to join Hannibal at the dinner table. He doesn’t feel any less of a victim as he sits.

W: This is the same soup you brought me in the hospital.

H: Yes.

W: Did you replace the whiskey?

Will knows Hannibal has to hold back a smile. It’s more in adoration than anything. Hannibal gets up and pours him a glass.

H: Are your plans to run as relevant today?

Will mutters and eats even if the image of Hannibal cutting a limb in two behind the saw flashes for his eyes.

W: Did you think poisoning me would help your cause, doctor?

H: You are still here, Will. Aren’t you?

~

Will is delirious when he attempts to sleep again. He’s soaked the bed with sweat and he trembles violently, groaning as the room keeps spinning around him.

He doesn’t know where Hannibal is or what he’s doing, nor does he care. He only cares to get better, so he calls out Hannibal’s name. When he’s met with silence he whimpers, hiding his face in the pillow and calls out again. It resembles a growl.

He doesn’t hear Hannibal coming, he only feels his weight next to him and arms pulling him close. He holds on to Hannibal’s shirt and cries, tugging on the material for something, anything.

W: Hannibal..

H: What do you want, Will?

W: T’feel better..

He whimpers and curls up against the warmth of Hannibal’s body, unable to meet his gaze. Will hasn’t been able to look at the small bruise across the bridge of Hannibal’s nose. He feels inappropriately guilty and justified at the same time.

H: I provide for you, I give you guidance and comfort you when you require it. Sweet boy, the word already lingers on your tongue. I suspect it has for some time.

Will hides his face in Hannibal’s neck and closes his eyes tightly, nuzzling the doctor’s collar and disappearing in the scent. He feels like he’s melting in Hannibal’s arms. Safe.

H: I can help you, my love. If you ask me to.

W: Please help me, Daddy..

He doesn’t know how he knows. If it’s his knowing of the man beside him that goes so deep or if it’s coming from a sensitive place within himself. He can’t decide, and chooses not to try.

Will shakes when Hannibal pulls the covers away and Will’s boxers off. He lies on his front as instructed and just squirms when Hannibal lubes his fingers and penetrates him. He instantly grows hard and moves his hips against the sheets, moaning Hannibal’s name. Pleasure overtakes nausea.

H: Beautiful, precious boy.

W: _God.._

Will can’t help but moan, starved for Hannibal’s touch and attention. Praise and punishment, whatever he’s offered he wants. Needs.

H: Are you thinking of running now, my dear? Is the thought of separation as appealing to you?

Will gasps quietly when Hannibal’s fingers hits his spot as the other hand comes down hard on his ass before grabbing it, pushing his fingers in deeper.

W: O-Oh, fuck. N-No.

Hannibal spanks him again and he hisses, waiting for another slap as the doctor runs his hand over the marks.

W: No, Daddy..

Embarrassment washes over him when Hannibal brings him to climax; squeezing his erection and teasing his hole until Will cries out, panting and whimpering the only words he knows as he paints the sheets with cum.

W: D-Daddy, daddy, Hannibal, please-

The euphoria stays with him as Hannibal nudges him to roll over, and he moans softly as he takes Hannibal’s cock down his throat. He strokes Hannibal’s thighs, pulling him closer and choking as Hannibal doesn’t hold back.

H: Perfect boy.

Will’s eyes flutter as he moans, sucking tightly and stroking Hannibal’s hips appreciatively. He’s aware he’s being experimented on again. He can feel the doctor digging deep within his soul to drag his demons out to play, but when Hannibal strokes his hair and stays between Will’s lips after his orgasm, he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mean to, but he sucks harder as Hannibal attempts to pull away with a soft hiss in pain. He traces Will’s eyebrow with a fingertip in affection before he pulls his cock out.

H: What do you say, Will?

W: Thank you.

His voice is small and low and he wants to curl up and hide, but Hannibal is watching him. Unrelenting, he stays in position and Will tries not to feel threatened with Hannibal’s cock still hovering above his face. He feels even more compelled to hide by how he longs for another taste already.

W: Daddy..

He mumbles the word before he tries to pull Hannibal closer, only relaxing when they lie down together again and he can hide his face in Hannibal’s chest. He’s flushed from his orgasm and embarrassment but falls asleep when Hannibal whispers in his ear beautiful words he can’t understand.


	7. Mélisse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even death couldn’t be this agonizing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to check the tags for warnings, for there are difficult themes throughout this fic. But there are brighter days to come. Thank you for reading. ❤︎

_My precious lamb and martyr, I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this._  
_\- Maynard James Keenan_

  


The next day Hannibal takes Will to go fishing on a sailboat. Will can already hear the calming wind and the sound of waves. It’s a pleasant nostalgia, and he can’t stop smiling at Hannibal as he drives them to the ocean. 

As they get there, they’re met with the information that all boats are out for the day. Will looks to the empty dock and feels stupid for getting his hopes up. White sails taunt him from the open sea, far away from his own reality. The warm wind is a cruel mockery.

H: I made arrangements, we were supposed to be out on the water now.

Will suspects Hannibal had arranged for him to be disappointed. He doesn’t react at first when he’s pulled into Hannibal’s arms.

H: My poor boy, let Daddy make it better.

Will wasn’t upset before, but he is now. He can’t control the tears welling up, and he wishes he didn’t cling to Hannibal and whimper.

H: _Wounded_ little bird, don’t cry.

Hannibal only makes him cry even more, like clockwork Will nuzzles into his neck and lets himself be carried back to the car. The word “coddled” comes to mind and it’s shameful how accurate it is.

Will knows what Hannibal is doing. He’s so painfully aware, and the doctor hasn’t exactly bothered to hide his manipulations, but Will can’t make himself let go as Hannibal places him in the car again.

H: Will, darling. Daddy needs you to let go for just a second.

He’s embarrassed by how he squirms when Hannibal closes the door and goes over to the other side. He feels unspeakably lonely as Hannibal seems to take forever. Even death couldn’t be this agonizing.

W: Hannibal..

He knows whatever comfort he’s provided with isn’t needed, how he’s actually not upset but the tears are wet and endless as he wipes them with his sleeve. He undoes his seat belt when Hannibal finally gets in, and whimpers when he’s simply pushed back down and strapped in again.

H: Will, be good and sit still.

He feels like he’s being tortured. The seat belt is tight and relentless and he struggles to breathe, crying uncontrollably and reaching for Hannibal to curl up in his arms. He’s desperate for just a look, a touch or Hannibal’s voice. He’s certain he’s never quite felt solitude like this.

W: H-Hannibal.

His voice is near a whisper, unable to tear his eyes off the doctor who won’t even spare him a glance. Will wants to sink his teeth into the unmoving statue and garner a reaction. He cries and grabs Hannibal’s wrist, trying to pull his arm off the shift gear and close to his body to cuddle or bite.

H: I will put you in the trunk.

The threat is like a blow, and Will can’t even register how dramatic he is when he squirms, sobbing and hits Hannibal’s arm with all his strength. To have been given such love and comfort only to have it taken away is too much to bear.

W: D-Daddy.. Daddy. Daddy, daddy, d-daddy-

The word slips out between sobs, cautiously at first but quickly repeating in desperation until Hannibal reaches over to rub his crotch, squeezing gently and stroking his inner thigh. Will hadn’t realized he was hard. He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s until it slips from his grip and the car comes to a stop.

Will figures Hannibal must finally have realized how much pain he’s in, and he clings to him as tightly as possible in gratitude when he’s lifted out of the car. Will clutches the doctor’s shirt, whimpering into his neck and pressing his clothed erection against Hannibal’s hip as he’s carried to the boot of the car.

He begs and wants to disappear, melt into Hannibal’s body. Curl up inside Hannibal’s chest. He sobs in pain.

W: N-No.. Daddy. P-Please, I’m s-sorry.. Daddy. Daddydaddydaddydaddy-

He expects to be comforted again, but Hannibal only opens the trunk and lowers him into it, prying Will’s hands from his shirt and offering not a word or meaningful glance before he shuts it. And Will wholeheartedly panics, rotating between unintelligible screams and the most carefully constructed begging he could imagine, punching the walls surrounding him and covering his face in sobs. Air doesn’t reach his lungs, but he needs Hannibal more.

_I’m dying. This is death._

He can faintly register Hannibal’s steps, feeling the door close and the engine spur to life before the wheels start rolling beneath him. He feels sick, or heartbroken. He can’t breathe but repeats the only word he knows as a desperate prayer, screaming without shame.

W: Daddy, daddy, daddy-

He can’t keep his shouts or begging consistent, breaking down in tears and whimpers until the darkness and sedating warmth lulls him to sleep.

~

They’re equally silent when they arrive back home again and Will is cuddled in Hannibal’s arms back into the house. Will is too emotionally exhausted to find the right words, so he just allows himself to soak up Hannibal’s affection in the form of a hand rubbing his back and light kisses to his face. Will knows it’s to taste tears, how he’d been purposefully brought to a dark place, but he whimpers for more and shudders in shock by his abandonment.

H: You need to learn to comfort yourself, Will. I may not always be there for you.

Will wants to point out he wouldn’t need to be comforted if it wasn’t for Hannibal, and how he knows Hannibal would never miss out on his desperation or suffering, but he keeps hugging him instead. He clings tighter when Hannibal carries him to a cage. Placed perfectly between the kitchen and living room; the amount of time he could be spending there makes him tear up all over again. He needs Hannibal’s body against his more than he needs air in his lungs.

W: No. N-No..

He tries to hold on to Hannibal, crying in pain as his limbs are bent to strip him out of his clothes before he’s shoved in the cage. Hannibal locks it shut and turns his back on him, walking off to pour himself a glass of wine. Will can only watch.

He’s disappointed in how he feels grateful. The bottom of the cage is covered in a blanket and it’s not terrifyingly confining. He could lie down if he wanted, albeit curled up in a ball.

W: Hannibal..

H: Yes, Will?

He grinds his jaw as Hannibal prepares dinner, searching for the correct ingredients as the sound of an orchestra’s mildly unsettling suite fills the room.

W: Let me out.

He wants to remain silent, pretend like he’s not miserable by the distance between them. But he figures Hannibal wouldn’t have put him here unless he knew it would hurt. He feels absolutely exhausted from crying, and cold as his bare skin leans against metal. Hannibal’s whole energy is enticing.

W: I’m not.. Upset anymore.

H: Are you not? My dearest, have I misunderstood you?

He doesn’t want to crawl forward when Hannibal approaches, but he tries to squeeze his hand through the bars.

H: Is the distance not agonizing?

When Hannibal kneels in front of the cage and leans in close Will kisses him, pressing himself against the bars to try to soak up the warmth radiating from Hannibal’s body. Hannibal almost smiles, teasing Will’s lower lip with his tongue as he strokes his cheek with two fingers.

H: I have such affection for you, Will.

Will whimpers in need and tries to grasp Hannibal’s pants as he stands, and eagerly presses forward to take Hannibal down his throat as his cock pushes between the bars. Will gags as he bobs his head, sucking tightly and drooling. Hannibal lets out a pained moan by Will’s desperate force but stays put, overwhelmed with sensation. Will only feels accomplished, and worry that Hannibal might suddenly turn away again. The pain of being ignored is worse than anything.

H: So eager to please, aren’t you? My love. My darling tesoro, how I adore you-

He could cry. Hannibal’s affection is only sincere when Will is incapable to fully reciprocate; when they’re held apart physically or emotionally. He can’t appreciate Will, not truly, without obstacles. It’s enough to make Will pull away as tears threaten to spill over again.

H: Will..

W: N-No.

Will feels a small sense of contentment as Hannibal seems to be at a loss; his cock heavy and neglected and glistening with saliva, until he steps away and retreats back into the kitchen. He makes an effort to keep it exposed, fully dressed in his usual attire but with a striking erection gaining all focus, bare and taunting Will from across the room as he looks through the recipe.

Will doesn’t even try to stop himself from staring. What else is he to do? He already misses the feeling of being full, comforted by Hannibal’s presence, thick and unavoidable on his tongue. He sniffles quietly.

W: Please let me out, Hannibal.

Will wonders if he’d managed to hurt Hannibal’s ego, even from a cage. The doctor ignores him, only giving him visual stimuli by stroking himself every now and then to keep his erection. Will whimpers and wraps his own hand around his cock, knowing Hannibal couldn’t see as he brings his knees up but certain he’d know anyway.

H: The lemon balm herb is said to promise eternal youth. Or eternal life. When the Romans brought the plant to England it became a protector; planted at the entrance of homes to drive away evil spirits.

Will can only shudder. Hannibal’s voice dips perfectly at the right words, and he finds he’s on his knees, stroking himself for no one but Hannibal’s viewing pleasure. But his performance goes unremarked.

H: Which would you prefer, Will? Eternal life or a peaceful one?

W: Neither.

His breathing is desperate, eyes glued to Hannibal’s bare cock, the black material of his pants covering his thighs and the veins across his hands as he sharpens his knives. His biceps raise perfectly, stretching the white shirt before relaxing. Will can’t bring himself to look Hannibal in the eye, but he knows the doctor is smiling now.

H: Ruled by Jupiter in Cancer, it is said to expel melancholy vapors from the heart and arteries.

W: And leave you with what?

His fingers close around metal, panting against the bars as he gets closer to climax. The faint marks on his cock only work as an added excitement; taking control of what Hannibal had claimed.

H: Pleasure.

W: Oh, _fuck.._

He puts on a show as he comes; moaning as his eyes close and leaning his head against the bars, panting heavily and shuddering in aftershocks of ecstasy. He feels groggy, struggling to focus his vision when Hannibal approaches the cage again to unlock it.

Will tries to cuddle into Hannibal’s arms when he’s released but hisses when his hair is grabbed and he’s pushed down to the floor. He only whimpers in chagrin as he tastes his own cum on his tongue.

H: You are violently obscene, my darling. Offensive and spectacular.

Will wants to throw the words right back but only occupies his tongue with devouring himself until Hannibal is satisfied with the result and lets go.

For a few seconds he doesn’t dare to move from the spot. Breathing heavily against the floor and staring at Hannibal’s full fledged erection as the doctor returns to the kitchen.

He wants to get dressed. Wants to shower, wants to be freed from his desire but instead he crawls. He nuzzles into Hannibal’s thighs and strokes them lovingly, ghosting his lips along his length, massaging the vein with his tongue as he takes him down his throat.

Hannibal strokes through his hair and Will can sense he’s struggling to focus on anything else. He’s determined to keep Hannibal’s full attention, sucking tightly and pulling off with a wet noise every now and then to tease the head or balls with his tongue.

W: What else would you call me?

H: Will-

W: Please?

Will smiles, drawing Hannibal closer as his hands move up to grab his ass, sucking on the side of his cock before wrapping his lips around the tip and slowly bobbing his head. Hannibal stands without the control, and moans for more.

H: My dearest dolcezza, my most beautiful deviant..

Will feels like he’s dreaming; moaning in appreciation or love as Hannibal comes down his throat, hands gripping his hair and his face, caressing and squeezing in pure affection. Will finally feels victorious, on his knees.

~

A faint smile sticks to Will’s expression as he gets dressed. He doesn’t bother with a shirt, instead jumping up to sit on the counter as Hannibal busies himself with his dearest performance. Will watches Hannibal with the utmost adoration, offering a smile when the doctor taps the bottle of wine and pours him a glass.

W: Do you really think you’ve convinced Jack?

H: For the moment.

Will frowns at the back of Hannibal’s neck. His heartbeat quickens.

W: Please don’t tell me you’re going to indulge him in another chase.

H: It’s not a chase, nor a hunt.

W: A taunt, then.

The risks of running are great. But not as great as staying where they are if the FBI believes they’re still alive. Hannibal rests his hands on Will’s thighs as he kisses him.

H: Are you not my bait?


	8. Zodiaque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Here it comes,_ he thinks. _He’s going to eat me raw._

Hannibal was always a fool for threatrics. For grandiosity in the most beautiful and terrifying ways imaginable. That’s why the sight of him peacefully sketching in the sun left Will boiling.

W: What will you do now, Hannibal? Without the thrill of the chase. No predator nor prey.

Accusing Hannibal of boredom or frustration only leaves his own emotions to match. He isn’t sure if he’s asking for something, but suddenly he sees the pleasantries of safety a burden.

H: Have the waves stilled so quickly?

He could scream. Hannibal pays little attention to him, more focused on the version he’s creating on paper. Will leans back and regards him too intimately than he means to. He knows he comes off as a begging vessel.

W: The FBI isn’t hunting you, or us. The Chesapeake Ripper is dead. Swallowed whole by the ocean.

H: By your hand, in mine.

When Hannibal finally looks at him it’s soft and suggestive, and Will turns to face the sun for relief.

H: Was that not what you wanted, Will?

Hannibal leans in close, flashing sharp teeth in the hint of a smile before grazing them along Will’s neck. Will is frozen, shivering in excitement as Hannibal warms his skin with kisses. His limbs move by their own accord, wrapping a hand around Hannibal’s wrist to pull him closer.

W: I wanted-

H: Yes?

The words are stuck in his throat and Hannibal coaxes them out, tongue meeting skin and teeth clenching in possessiveness. Will only wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck and push his fingers through his hair as his eyes close.

W: You. I wanted to find peace with you.

H: Your perception of peace is disastrous, my darling.

Will smiles when he feels Hannibal’s teeth against his skin in a smile of his own, and climbs into his lap for a kiss. Will knows Hannibal may feel the urge for something disastrous, and maybe so does Will. But time slows when Hannibal embraces him, caressing every part of him as their lips meet.

W: I don’t want to know how you did it, but I want you to know I’m grateful.

Hannibal is overcome with something, his hand following the curve of Will’s spine as the other tighten in his hair; keeping him close and loved with affectionate kisses to his face and neck. Will doesn’t know if he feels smothered or appreciated, but Jack Crawford discovering bodies to conclude their deaths is an image he doesn’t mind.

W: I don’t- Hannibal. I want to stay here.

H: I know.

Will gasps when teeth sink into his neck, puncturing skin with a passionate pressure. Panic grips him and he yelps, shoving Hannibal back and ending up on the floor, scrambling back as blood seep from the wound.

He doesn’t have time to say a word, to run or object, only enough to see wide pupils and sharp teeth coming for him again.

W: No! No, _Hannibal!_

Will is furious when he’s kissed again. He hisses as Hannibal wraps a warm hand around his neck and kneels down for some twisted romantic spectacle, forcing Will’s own blood past his lips. He catches Hannibal’s lip between his teeth and growls when the doctor retreats, and Will scrambles to his feet and backs away. Hannibal looks intoxicated with desire, tongue darting out to taste deep red.

W: Fuck you.

He’s tearing up against his will as he clenches his fists, bracing himself for whatever violence Hannibal would bring him. But the bizarre sparkle in Hannibal’s eyes as he steps forward suddenly sends Will bolting to safety, almost tripping as he scrambles up the stairs to the bedroom and locks the door shut.

He backs away from the door, panting and trembling violently as he hears Hannibal’s steps lingering on the other side.

H: Will..

W: God, please no..

He whimpers and sinks to the floor, covering his ears and closing his eyes. He imagines the soft breeze, whistling through branches and leaves. The slow current passing him by.

The wound isn’t deep, it only streaks his skin in a few thin lines, slowly making their way down his chest. It’s more painful than it should be. He jumps when Hannibal’s body slam against the door, over and over. Just pick the lock, he wants to scream.

Anger overcomes him and he stands, tearfully eyeing the door that shakes with every impact. He struggles to remain standing when it slams open and Hannibal, a beast painted red breathes the same air.

H: Will, let me-

W: No. No, leave me alone.

Hannibal is only enticed by his objections; his neck giving a small twitch as he stays by the door. Will wants to throw him down the stairs for finding enjoyment in this.

H: Your wounds need-

W: N-No, no, I don’t care what you think I need!

H: Don’t you?

Will recoils at the sight of Hannibal’s teeth, taunting him in a wicked smile as slow steps close their distance. His cock twitches in his pants and he exhales shakily as Hannibal invades his zone, lips brushing over the punctures in his neck.

H: You wish to be my prey.

Will closes his eyes not to escape but to relish, feel the vibrations in Hannibal’s low voice and melt completely into the only thing he knows to be true. Hannibal was his, as fiercely and intimately as he was Hannibal’s.

H: My beautiful boy, your desires are safe with me.

That’s all he needs to hear for his arms to wrap around Hannibal’s shoulders in the tightest hug, tearing up in an overwhelming aftershock of terror and sniffling quietly into his neck. Hannibal holds him, supporting him as he licks his wounds.

~

Will wonders if it’s trauma that makes him naturally uneasy when Hannibal starts rooting around in his medical box. Yet he can’t move from the doctor’s lap, only stroking through the combed silvery strands at the back of his neck to comfort himself.

Dark red still coat Hannibal’s lips and chin, and Will is forced to stare at it as his wound is cleaned and shut with two butterfly stitches. He leans his head back more than necessary and stares at the ceiling instead.

H: You’re here with me, Will. By your choice.

W: Please, stop. Just stop talking.

Hannibal’s gaze feels invasive and his hold suffocating. Will squirms and turns his face away with clenched teeth in stubborn fury.

W: Let me go.

H: Look at me.

W: No.

Will closes his eyes tightly when Hannibal grips his jaw and leans in close. Will can feel Hannibal’s teeth sink into his chest, tearing apart his ribcage and devouring his heart whole. The coppery smell in Hannibal’s breath makes him feel sick.

Hannibal squeezes tightly around his throat to bring him back and Will finally opens his eyes to beg for air, squirming in panic and digging his nails into Hannibal’s wrist. His heartbeat is deafening, tears stream down his face and Hannibal’s eyes are inhumanly captivating.

He chokes between coughs as he’s thrown to the floor, and wishes he had the sense to run again. Or at least put up a fight when Hannibal leers over him, tearing the clothes off his body. _Here it comes,_ he thinks. _He’s going to eat me raw._

Will refuses to look. He closes his eyes again and lets himself be dragged to his knees, hands shaking as they clench in Hannibal’s pants to steady himself. He moans when Hannibal’s bare crotch suddenly grind against his face, trying to catch the tip of his cock between his lips.

H: You are despicable.

Will only whimpers in response and leaks precum on the floor. Hannibal’s cock is thick and heavy, escaping from his mouth again and again only to rub the length against his lips in the most cruel temptation. Will wants to cry in joy or horrible pain, suffocating himself in Hannibal’s crotch as he sucks his balls into his mouth.

Hannibal allows him, only tapping Will’s wrist and hums softly in approval when Will puts his hands behind his back without hesitation. He nearly cries when Hannibal pulls away.

H: Your lack of self control is deplorable, William.

Will doesn’t care to listen. He just darts forward again and takes Hannibal into his mouth, sucking tightly to keep him there and whimpers when he pulls out again with a wet pop that makes Will’s cock jerk.

Hannibal grips his jaw so tightly he cries out between clenched teeth, hissing with every breath as he’s forced to look up. He swallows thickly, heartbeat speeding up in something resembling fear as he meets Hannibal’s eyes. The blood around his mouth is dry, and Will swears he can see a difference in the mix between his and Hannibal’s.

H: If you so much as glance away from me, Will. I promise you, you will regret it.

Fear overtakes arousal. The two always lived in harmony in Will’s body, but now they fight for dominance. He begs into Hannibal’s distant eyes. He’s hurt his ego again, rejected him, and this is his punishment.

H: What’s the matter, Will? Would you rather I torture you?

Will is already tortured. Tears blur his vision and he whimpers. He doesn’t recognize the face above him, pale and streaked crimson. He wants to hide.

H: You can’t even honor your choices. To call you pathetic would be an understatement. My dear, you are delusional.

He can’t take it. He cries openly. Honestly. Staring up at the man he loves with every fiber of his being torturing him because he can. Even worse, because he wants to. But Will knows he’s right. He chose Hannibal, in death and in life, knowing what he is. Because of it.

Will is determined to overcome. Tears still steadily run down his face but he keeps eye contact as he takes the head of Hannibal’s cock between his lips again, immediately feeling arousal start to creep in again as he works the length further down.

H: You would endure anything for me, Will. If only you were allowed to take me down your throat after. Isn’t that right?

Will’s eyes flutter and he would smile if he could. Instead he whimpers happily and applies more pressure, appreciating the moan laced with pain in Hannibal’s throat.

The concept of time slips away. Will is so pleased he’s got Hannibal undivided attention, even if a lingering anger steers the doctor’s hand to occasionally wrap around his throat and squeeze. Will chokes and tries to pull Hannibal’s hand off but keeps eye contact like he’d perish if he looked away for even a second. For all he knows he just might. Hannibal responds by plugging Will’s nose with his fingers, clench a hand in his hair and smother him between his legs, entire length buried in his throat.

Will gags repeatedly at first, his throat working to expel the intruder and beyond reason, sucks tightly around Hannibal’s shaft for air. It sounds like he’s crying between spasms, squirming in panic and trying to push Hannibal back before he slips closer to unconsciousness.

Hannibal pulls him off roughly by his hair and allows air back into his lungs with a backhanded slap to his cheek. He cries as he hyperventilates, sobbing he leans into Hannibal’s legs again and sucks on the side of his cock, running his tongue over the vein before sucking the tip into his mouth and bobbing his head again. Hannibal chuckles.

H: Absolutely repulsive, aren’t you?

He moans and swallows around Hannibal’s cock, desperate hands reaching up to stroke his hips, his ass and the back of his thighs. Butterflies swarm his chest when Hannibal flashes his teeth in a sadistic smile, the same ones that had punctured his skin. Will is fiercely, completely in love.

Will sucks in a desperate breath when Hannibal pulls out, but keeps his lips to his cock anyway; kissing and licking up and down his length as his arms wrap around Hannibal’s hips. Abandonment in this moment is the only thing he can’t endure, even for Hannibal. He refuses to let go when Hannibal taps his arm.

H: Behind your back, Will.

Will tries to charm, stroking Hannibal’s lower back and blinking sweetly up at him as he tongues the head of his cock. Will could die happily in this moment. Hannibal doesn’t sound happy, but he doesn’t sound displeased either.

H: My dearest, you will enjoy this. I promise you.

It’s painful not to touch, but Will forces himself to comply and only squirms in anticipation when Hannibal binds his wrists with his belt. He hasn’t spoken in so long he barely recognizes his voice, or his throat may be damaged.

W: Hannibal..?

H: Yes?

Will doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, but he tries to nuzzle in between Hannibal’s legs again even if his demeaning tone sends a wave of shame to flush his cheeks deep red.

H: Use your words, Will.

W: Please Hannibal, can I suck your cock again?

Hannibal must have the willpower of something inhuman. Will realizes Hannibal still hasn’t reached his orgasm and the mere thought of being robbed of it pains Will to his very core. He isn’t even concerned with his own climax.

H: Why?

The question makes Will blink, casting a glance up at Hannibal with a frown in confusion before he’s blindfolded. He already misses witnessing Hannibal’s pleasure, even when it’s from torturing him.

H: Is it therapeutic for you, my darling?

Will shudders and turns his head towards Hannibal’s voice. He receives a kiss to his brow before he’s knocked backwards, crushing his arms beneath his own weight and whimpers.

H: Answer me, William.

He figured Hannibal’s sadistic needs were tucked away for a significantly long time, so he isn’t shocked when the edge to his voice reappears in his commands.

W: Y-Yes. Please, it’s- You know it’s- You know, Hannibal.

He expects to be whipped again. Perhaps beaten. Or stuffed in the cage. But Hannibal kneels over him and runs his hands through his hair. Will only tries to locate his cock with his mouth again.

H: It’s comforting to you. My darling masochist, I could mangle your bones, drive nails through your muscles or strip the skin from your body. It would only make you quiver with need.

W: Y-Yes, please, I- Yes, Hannibal but my arms please, pleasepleaseplease-

Hannibal understands. He cups Will’s cheek and presses his thumb down against his cheekbone in searing affection before he climbs off of him and rolls him on his side, releasing his wrists from their bindings. Will’s arms are numb, but tingle back to life when Hannibal nudges him to lie on his back again and presses his palms against the floor.

H: Will, if your hands leave the floor I will not hesitate to break each and every one of your fingers.

It’s a threat that only makes Will smile. He nods in agreement and moans when Hannibal is suddenly on top of him again, sliding his cock past his lips. He gurgles something in appreciation and tries to suck Hannibal down further, but just as he sinks down he pulls back out again, leaving Will’s neck straining as he tries to keep the connection. Hannibal keeps him pinned to the floor with a hand in his hair.

H: Poor boy. No self control, have you?

Will can hear the smile and it sends his cock to jerk to life, and he lets out a sob when Hannibal teases his lips with the tip of his cock, pushing in just enough for him to gain hope before pulling out again. Will wants death, or an orgasm. His or Hannibal’s, it doesn’t matter.

W: H-Hannibal..

He whimpers when the weight of Hannibal’s cock rolls around on his face, allowing his lips to attach to the shaft before it’s pulled away again, only to rest the head on his lower lip. Every time Will gets enough to wrap his lips around and suck it’s pulled away. Over and over again, he cries and squirms on the floor.

H: Tell Daddy what you need, my darling. Disgusting thing, you need only say the words.

Tears stream down his cheeks without his control and he wishes so dearly he could see Hannibal’s face and perhaps communicate without words. But he knows even if his vision wasn’t compromised Hannibal would still have him confess every dirty thought that ever entered his mind. It doesn’t upset him nearly as much as it should.

W: N-Need you, please Hannibal-

He doesn’t want to talk or confess. He just wants Hannibal to do it anyway, but he knows he won’t receive anything unless Hannibal deems him worthy. The thought shouldn’t be so arousing.

Hannibal is kind enough to encourage him, thrusting deeply into his mouth, slowly and almost with love. Will exhales through his nose and moans when Hannibal pulls out again.

W: F-Fuck, Hannibal please, fuck my throat, come in my mouth o-on my face use me whenever you want, god you know I want it too, please.. Please, pleaseplease-

He gags when Hannibal presses his length down his throat, smothering him into silence until he comes deep down his throat. Will can’t even taste it. He swallows anyway and chokes again, squirming until Hannibal pulls out only to invade him with his tongue. The taste of blood doesn’t bother him.

~

Their shower together is like a baptism. Will doesn’t wince when the blood washes away from Hannibal’s lips, joins their feet before it disappears down the drain. The wound on his neck merely aches with phantom pains.

They are silent when they get dressed, and Will’s eyes keep wandering back to Hannibal. Distraction guides him to button his shirt unevenly.

H: I was unaware fear was the means to find your acceptance.

Will shrugs halfheartedly, recognizing Hannibal’s lies as weakly disguised as they are. He follows the trend of tiptoeing.

W: Exposure is simultaneously traumatizing and healing.

Hannibal is silent for a second, and Will swears he can tell a faint smile from across the room. Neither of them are being truthful, but Will knows that with all Hannibal’s knowledge and intrusion, he yearns to have it challenged. As much as it pleases him to be proven right he also relishes when Will exposes his cracks, even when Hannibal baits him. God, this man had the strangest triggers. Will can’t deny the same can be said about him.

H: It is proven that facing your fears may very well help you overcome them.

W: You are giving me your own version of shock therapy.

Will’s words dance around flirtation and accusation, and Hannibal steps closer to squeeze his arm in appreciation and threat. Will makes a point not to acknowledge the touch.

H: Your shirt is crooked, darling.


	9. Guillotine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you can’t indulge you’ll have to endure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drugs intermingled with violence.

H: When a tree is wounded it penetrates through the bark and into the sapwood, and it secretes a resin. Myrrh, amongst others.

Will looks to the dark, glossy cubes on the cutting board with both distaste and curiosity. Hannibal pretends it’s merely the latter.

H: When myrrh is harvested, the trees are wounded repeatedly to bleed them of the gum.

W: And why do we eat it?

H: We don’t.

Will narrows his eyes in concentration when Hannibal slides the blade through the cubes, hacking them up until there’s nearly nothing left but crumbs, capturing Will’s attention with a mysterious shimmer.

H: Among the ancients and Solomon’s words in the jewish bible, wine and myrrh, and gall, was considered a painkiller, and an effective sleep incentive.

W: Your plan is to roofie me, Hannibal?

He makes the doctor smile. It swells as happiness in Will’s chest, and he immediately chastises himself for the pleasure.

H: It was common for the women of Jerusalem to attend criminals executions, offering the beverage to numb their pain. Guide them into the light with ease.

Anticipation lingers in Will’s stomach like a terror. He feels compelled to flee, even if he knows deep down he’s not in danger. At least not lethal. Hannibal doesn’t intend to guide him into the light.

Will isn’t offered any comfort as Hannibal sprinkles the wine with transparent flakes of tree blood.

H: When Jesus was weeping, nailed to the cross, he turned his head when the wine was offered to him. Refusing to evade his suffering, or didn’t see hope for a peaceful descent into heaven.

Will feels the accusation as a rolling wave, spreading heat to his limbs and he circles the counter to distance himself from Hannibal and his concoction. He tries to ignore how he’s hesitant to the idea of numbing his pain himself.

W: Don’t you want me to suffer?

H: Is that what you think?

W: Hannibal.

His face is burning red. Hannibal only reaches to place the glass in front of him in a peace offering. Will doesn’t trust it. Can’t.

H: You are deeply dependent on pain. It’s embedded in you. The horror, the fear. I’m interested in what transpires beyond.

Will wonders if Hannibal is being sincere in his accusations or claimed interest. He couldn’t possibly find enjoyment in the small part of Will’s mind that’s calm and still. After all, Hannibal is the one who drags him out of it whenever Will retreats to it for safety.

The myrrh brings a sparkle to the wine, drawing Will’s attention yet again. He mentally shrugs and sips it, perhaps to disprove Hannibal’s comparison of him to the suffering Jesus. The taste isn’t starkly different, only a hint of bitter bark, saturated with the taste of a lush forest drenched in rain. The quiet part of his mind expands.

W: Your persistence to feed me exotic remedies is ironic, Doctor Lecter.

H: This is not a remedy.

Genuine curiosity glints in Hannibal’s eyes as he watches Will drink. If only for a moment his experiment, his object of study gives him such fulfillment. Will feels pity.

H: Are you accusing me of being responsible for your pain? Will, darling. You were suffering far before me.

Will laughs. He laughs so hard tears fill his eyes and his stomach cramps. Hannibal smiles and pats his cheek, perhaps to check his temperature. Will is euphoric. 

W: I-I was fine before you, Hannibal.

He giggles between words even if they’re lies. Pain in any form seems like a nightmare he’s never had. Something explained to him, but never experienced or understood. Will isn’t the suffering Jesus, he is the condemned.

~

Will is salivating endlessly. Words he can’t explain roll off his tongue continuously and the urge to curl up on the floor and let sleep take him is growing stronger every second. 

H: How are you feeling, Will?

W: I feel.. Feels. Mm, Hnn-Hannibal.

His feet wobble beneath him as he walks over and wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist, trying to nuzzle in underneath his arm and into his chest. Hannibal is more concerned with the presentation he’s creating on their plates. Will doesn’t need to be impressed, certainly not now.

H: Will, take your seat at the table.

Will mumbles in reply and groans without his control. Warmth from a harsh impact spreads across his cheek before he realizes Hannibal had slapped him. He purrs like a satisfied cat in response and steadies himself against the counter. Hannibal chuckles.

H: Did you like that, my darling?

Amusement lingers in Hannibal’s voice. His smile isn’t one of kindness, but almost fondness.

W: Mm. Mhm..

H: Precious. How about the other side?

Saliva runs past his lip as he nods, and his reaction is delayed at the second impact. He only feels the heat fill both sides of his face and he tears up in a natural response. An orgasm doesn’t feel far away, even if an erection is impossible. Hannibal’s attention is undividedly his, and he resents the fact that he can’t even focus his gaze to fully appreciate it.

H: Hm?

W: Y-Yes, Hnnbal..

He only exhales and stumbles a little when Hannibal hits him a third time. A soft moan escapes him in a late reaction and Hannibal smiles warmly.

H: Good boy. Would you like another?

Will coughs before slowly nodding, and Hannibal doesn’t hold back. Will hears the slap rather than feel it, and curls into Hannibal’s body as he momentarily loses his balance. He drools onto the floor, panting and slurring unintelligibly. 

H: Do you want another, Will?

W: _Nnh_\- Uh-huh..

He grumbles and nods against Hannibal’s chest until he’s pushed away, hearing the crack in his neck when Hannibal slaps him a fifth time and he finally releases a breath in pain. His face is numb, overwhelmingly so. Hannibal is wholeheartedly amused.

H: Good boy. Did you know, Will-

Will tries to listen, following the doctor to the table with uncertain steps and doesn’t sit until he’s nudged into his seat. His vision is sparkling wonderfully as well as his ears ring.

H: Your reaction is the same to pain and praise. At least the outcome of your actions, your decision making. 

Hannibal is nearly beaming, carving into the flesh on his plate and Will imagines it’s flowers instead. Daffodils and Marigolds, yellow and bursting with happiness equal to the reminder of death. New beginnings and pain. Will desperately wants to share this with Hannibal, but can’t form the words in his head.

H: Never have I seen someone so enthralled with their own suffering.

Will only frowns and turns his head to look for his glass of wine. His movements are painfully slow, and Hannibal interrupts.

H: We consume the blood of our wounded and feel only joy. We carve and cut to be carried into the heavens. Interesting, isn’t it? 

W: Marigolds..

Will blinks dumbly and stares as Hannibal consumes a yellow garden. Saliva runs past his lip uncontrollably and onto his lap.

H: Everything alright, William?

He fights to keep his eyes open, and even when they are they won’t focus. The plate of neglected food suddenly occurs to him and he gathers all his strength to cut into a Marigold that bleeds.

H: Will.

He doesn’t feel like playing anymore, so he ignores Hannibal’s demanding tone disguised as concern and plays with his food instead. Arranges the garden, smears crimson across yellow petals and wants to cry because it’s so beautiful. He wishes Hannibal could see it. Somewhere in the back of his head he registers how he’s being spoken to like a child, but doesn’t care. Hannibal regards him in curiosity for a blissful minute or two.

H: Are you going to waste your dinner, darling?

W: Mm.

H: Should I take that as a yes?

Will shakes his head over and over until it’s disorienting. He can see Hannibal’s teeth in a sharp smile, but his tone is the same of demand.

H: No?

W: Y’re annoying..

He giggles at himself and eats, completely carefree. If he didn’t know any better he’d think he’d managed to hurt Hannibal’s feelings, or rather ego. But the doctor is still grinning. The object of study bites back.

~

Will wants to be helpful when Hannibal undresses him upstairs. The quicker his clothes are off he can finally go to sleep. His eyelids are heavy as lead and the bed looks excruciatingly inviting, but he’s too tired to even shrug the shirt off his back. Hannibal has to kneel and keep him steady as he strips him of his pants and underwear.

H: How are you feeling, Will?

W: Wanna sleep..

H: Soon, my love.

He hums pleasurably when Hannibal stands and checks his pupils along with the slow pulse in his neck. He doesn’t even flinch when fingers squeeze his windpipe, only coughing when Hannibal lets go and allows himself to be lead to the bathroom.

H: Your pulse is alarmingly weak. I’m afraid letting you fall asleep is an unnecessary risk.

W: I could- Please?

H: Quiet.

His breath picks up by the mere thought of staying awake a moment longer. Air vaguely clears his vision and he watches Hannibal prepare his shaving kit. For a second he’s deeply offended Hannibal expects him to believe his concoction could put him in lethal danger. As if Hannibal wasn’t in control.

W: N-No, please.. Hannibal..

H: I said quiet, Will.

He whimpers and leans against the wall until he’s pulled to stand in the middle of the room without support. Will exhales shakily and watches through tears as Hannibal shaves in front of the mirror. Without at least the stimulation of conversation he drifts off, grumbling sleepily as he catches himself before losing balance.

Hannibal washes his face for an eternity before clearing his throat and simply going back to the bedroom. Will sobs in joy and follows, squeezing Hannibal’s arm weakly as he’s guided to the side of the bed. Hannibal doesn’t share his enthusiasm and lets it be known by a mildly disinterested tone. 

H: You are being so patient for me. What a good boy you are.

Will only whimpers in happiness and remains standing even as Hannibal sits on the bed and relaxes against the headboard. Pure envy dominates Will’s entire innards but he’s helplessly frozen in place.

H: Aren’t you?

This night needs to end, and he scrambles his daze of a mind for a solution. He doesn’t react when the cane first taps his cheek, only staring at Hannibal through half lidded eyes until the pressure on his skin rises and he squirms, begging by a low whine at the back of his throat.

H: Sweet boy.

W: Daddy..

He trembles with exhaustion, swallowing endless saliva and appreciates the heated sting when Hannibal taps the cane against his chin in almost a loving manner.

H: Yes?

W: CanIplease- Can I s-sleep nowplease.

H: Yes, darling. After you masturbate.

Hannibal’s sheer crudeness clears the fog ever so slightly, but when Will wraps a weak hand around himself his sedated body refuses to cooperate. He sniffles and shakes his head.

H: What’s wrong, my love?

Will wants to scream until he passes out, tear his useless cock off and hide under the bed, and Hannibal’s constructed concern isn’t doing anything to help. He’s so overwhelmed he can only continue to shake his head.

H: Allow yourself the pleasure, Will. Relish in knowing you’ve earned it.

Will isn’t in pain. In fact, he’s never been so numb he longs for it. Anything to stimulate, to clear his mind. Hannibal was right, he would deny the myrrh by nature.

W: C-Can’t, please Hannibal..

He cries and wants nothing but curl up in Hannibal’s arms, even with the cane in his hand. He closes his eyes and recalls the doctor’s voice, mumbling the most beautiful commands close to his ear until sleep is everything he knows. But Hannibal drags him out of his attempted trance; tapping Will’s wrist harshly until it moves up and down his limp cock again. It doesn’t hurt, nothing does.

W: _Please,_ lemmesleep..

H: I am only trying to help you, Will. Living life in endless agony is no life at all. You deserve to indulge in pleasure.

Will abruptly laughs. Hannibal trying to convince him of either helping him or that he wants to see Will pain free is like a sick joke. He’s being forced into pleasure for the sake of pain.

H: If you can’t indulge you’ll have to endure.

W: Hnn, mhm..

His entire skull vibrates and drool hits his arm as his jaw goes numb. His knees tremble but he understands. Hannibal won’t let him sleep until he gets what he wants. Refuse to indulge in his desires and he’d be forced to endure the perception. It’s exposure therapy repeating, forcing Will to overcome. So Will - consistently the rebel - lets go of himself and watches Hannibal write in his journal. He needs to do something.

W: Daddy..

H: Yes, Will?

Will doesn’t know what to say but begs anyway, only painfully aware of the fact that asking permission to sleep will only disappoint him. He finds another route.

W: Can you- H-Hannibal.. Please can youplease hit me again?

He can faintly register Hannibal’s eyebrow raise as his interest is peaked. A pleasant wave of accomplishment already begins to spread through Will’s body.

H: Is that all?

W: Mhmm.. If not you’re g-gonna lemme sleep please.

Will smiles when Hannibal does, and doesn’t berate himself for it. Hannibal looks painfully beautiful, the top buttons of his shirt undone, the scar on his sculpted cheekbone pleasantly prominent in the moonlight, a strand of silver hair escaping from the mass of dark blonde to connect perfectly with his brow. Will feels compelled to express his love, and does so with a kiss to Hannibal’s jaw as he stands. Rising like a cobra, and Will fiercely craves the venom.

He’s surprised when the doctor kisses him; holds him close in both arms and doesn’t even bite, only caressing his face and pecks sweetly at his lips. Will is so confused he frowns deeply but leans into the touch for stability.

H: Would you prefer I beat you rather than give you an orgasm, my love? Is that what you’re saying?

Will feels pitiful even if he knows Hannibal is only teasing, aware of Will’s every thought and desire. Hannibal’s true pleasure is to drag them out at Will’s command. He struggles to keep his eyes open as he nods.

W: Yesplease.

His eyes finally fall shut when he’s held to Hannibal’s chest, smiling wholeheartedly when the doctor chuckles and lays the two of them in bed. Will instantly nuzzles into Hannibal’s neck and clings to him under the warm covers, drifting off in a peaceful joy into the heavens.

H: Sleep, Will. You’ve earned it.


	10. Jonquille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s like a horrible nightmare and a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hannibal's version of electroconvulsive therapy, I guess?

It’s unusual for Will to awake before Hannibal. So rare in fact he can’t be sure he’s ever seen Hannibal sleeping before, besides in a hospital room. It’s nearly disturbing how peaceful he looks in sunrise, the only indication of his morality being the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Will wonders if Hannibal is dreaming and feels a sting of jealousy that that’s something they can’t share. He doesn’t bother worrying about codependency when they’re the only two people left on earth.

He lightly grazes his lips to Hannibal’s shoulder in a kiss before he carefully climbs out of bed. He expects Hannibal to wake, for a predator’s sleep is light in nature. Always prepared to pounce. But when he doesn’t, Will goes to the bathroom for a shower and shoots a glance over his shoulder for a last look of his beast vulnerable.

Apparently nature’s sedatives with alcohol don’t just provide a euphoric high but lacks the qualities of a hangover. Will feels reborn as he dries himself. His ankle is completely healed, the lacerations between his legs have faded and the stitches on his thigh look unnecessary. He praises Hannibal’s medical knowledge. It allows the sadist to continue his pleasures undisturbed by bodily complications. His work of art recovers. Merely a bruised cheek speaks of recent violence, and Will smiles as he wraps a towel around his waist and returns to the bedroom.

H: Good morning, Will.

W: I’m pleasantly surprised by what you gave me last night.

Will ignores the uncharacteristic look of Hannibal; stretched out and flexing lean muscles as he runs a hand through his hair, the covers tented above his crotch. It almost looks like he’s trying to be seductive in the most normal way imaginable, and Will, unimpressed, busies himself getting dressed in a pair of boxers.

H: I’m pleasantly surprised by the strong effect.

Will clutches the shirt in his hand when Hannibal’s arms wrap around him from behind, rubbing an impressive erection against his ass as he caresses his chest. Will is rarely comfortable at all, but he knows when he’s teetering on the line of what he simply can’t accept. Hannibal lovingly kisses his neck and he deflects.

W: I want to go to the ocean today.

H: I will take you.

Hannibal’s words have double meanings, and when he grabs the shaft of his cock and rubs the tip between Will’s clothed cheeks is when Will rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s the lingering effects of the natural painkillers or Hannibal’s mild desperation, but he tries to push the doctor’s arms away.

W: No. Let me get dressed, Hannibal.

H: You don’t want me to take you?

He gasps when Hannibal pulls the boxers down Will’s ass and presses in again, slick with precum and nudging at his hole that tightens in protection. Will growls and reaches back to hit Hannibal’s chest with the back of his fist.

W: No! I mean yes, but no I don’t want you to _fuck me_, Hannibal! Jesus christ. Let me go.

Hannibal pulls away and simultaneously pushes Will forward against the wall before he retreats to the bathroom, and Will swears he can see fumes from Hannibal’s figure alone. He mutters and gets dressed in peace.

~

While Hannibal stews and presumably jerks off Will makes breakfast, huffing to himself and sitting outside to eat simply because Hannibal rarely wants to. But he soon joins him anyway of course, stroking the bruises on Will’s cheek and temple with gentle fingers before he sits. Admiring his brutal art.

Will glares and sips his coffee, uncomfortable and hesitant in how to handle Hannibal’s humanity. He’d felt lust, fury when rejected, and Will was mildly shocked. Perhaps even disappointed.

W: I want you to respect my wishes, Hannibal. I need you to.

H: I do.

Will is the one searching for eye contact now, wondering if it’s shame or regret that drives Hannibal’s gaze away. Perhaps both. Or he doesn’t value the conversation. There’s an angry sourness in Will’s tone.

W: Not respectfully enough.

Hannibal’s silence feels lighter for a second, as if he finally knows what to say but keeps Will hanging on for his own amusement.

H: Is it different when I torture you, Will? Carve and cut?

W: Yes..

Will traces the cup with a fingertip, staring at it silently as he already knows where Hannibal is getting at. He doesn’t mind, at least not in the moment.

H: Pain and horror isn’t what offends you.

W: You know this already.

H: Do you?

Hannibal finally dignifies him with a curious look, but Will doesn’t return it.

H: I apologize, Will. My intention is never for you to fear me.

Will huffs, rolling his eyes right in Hannibal’s apology. He wants to strangle him.

W: And I don’t. Consider your expose therapy successful, doctor.

H: You didn’t fear me before, did you?

Will sighs only to get some fresh air. Even the lake is still; the soft and warm mind only grazing the glimmering surface in harmony. How dull.

W: You said I was _irreplaceable_.

Hannibal nods approvingly, eternally unashamed of his affection. Will wishes he could cherish it. The sweet words, the loving touch. But Will is the one clinging to formal titles and rejection.

H: What offends you, Will?

He stares down at the table, thoughtlessly digging the nail of his thumb into the wood and picking off flakes. It’s a pleasant distraction. Making a destructive mark in Hannibal’s pristine world.

W: Two things.

H: Intimacy and accepting the crave for it.

Will can’t look Hannibal in the eye. He can’t think, and doesn’t want to. He only grants Hannibal the confirmation by going back inside.

It had seemed like an impactful move, to leave Hannibal alone to sit and think about what he’d done like a scolded child, but Will is the one who huffs and kicks at the floor. He glares at the back of Hannibal’s head through the glass doors, every second that he remains unmoving only amplifying his anger.

When Hannibal doesn’t follow him Will growls and goes back out to the patio, fists clenched at his sides. Hannibal only looks pleased Will is prepared to continue their conversation.

W: Forcing yourself on me isn’t intimacy. You’re trying to make me feel guilty for not letting you fuck me whenever you feel like it and frankly; I expected more.

H: What did you expect?

Angry tears threaten to spill over when he suddenly realizes Hannibal has an agenda. Ever experimenting, Hannibal had attempted to be loving and intimate not because of a harmless desire but for Will to reject it. Force him into confrontation. He’s not disappointed in Hannibal’s humanity any longer, just with the lengths his destructive, smothering love would go.

H: Will, darling. Your happiness is-

Will scoffs and turns away, boiling with frustration as he rubs at his face. Something horrible is brewing from deep within.

W: My happiness is what to you? Valuable? Desirable? Hannibal, you’re using what you claim is my fear to manipulate me into- into what? Letting you _take me_ when you feel like it? Or do you just get off presenting me with my fears?

He’s dragging everything out in the open, kicking and screaming and Hannibal doesn’t even look shocked. He’s not phased even the slightest. Will cries and paces before stepping close enough to lean down and grab Hannibal’s arm. To shake him awake or hold on himself. He fights for air between tears and feels waves clashing in his lungs.

W: What do you want from me?!

Air is sucked out of him, every panicked breath short and unable to reach his lungs that swell with water. Hannibal watches as he sinks to his knees, sobbing into Hannibal’s lap and squeezing his arm in a life or death grip.

W: Y-You should’ve let me d-drown..

H: Your lack of insight is disappointing, Will. Encephalitis is no excuse now, perhaps you’re not as unique as I thought.

W: F-Fuck you! Fuck y-you-

Will knows even now that Hannibal is lying, playing with him. It’s enough for his heartbeat to rise, pounding loud and fast and threatening to burst. It’d jump out of his chest and into Hannibal’s hands, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

W: Hannibal p-please stop.. Please god please, p-please-

Hannibal’s stillness only makes Will’s panic rise, panting harshly and pressing his face into Hannibal’s chest as he attempts to climb into his lap. Hannibal doesn’t move to help nor stop him; head tilting to the side in a curious gesture and allowing Will to cling to him as he hyperventilates into hysterics.

H: I am only trying to help you, Will.

W: Please h-help me, please Ha-

His pleas are cut off by Hannibal’s hand around his neck. Warm, tight and merciless. Will panics before he realizes it’s because he can’t exhale, and his lungs aren’t filled with water. It’s air that aches to be released. His eyes flutter as Hannibal leans down, stroking his bruised cheek with the back of his fingers and whispers sweetness in his ear as he squeezes his neck.

H: My love. If you can't indulge, you'll have to endure.

~

The cage looks overwhelmingly sinister. Will is desperate for human contact, specifically Hannibal’s gentleness and comfort. But the cold look in his eyes is dooming, promising of terror, and Will doesn’t even bother to beg when he’s stripped to his boxers.

His breath is finally leveled and controlled; and barely shaky even when Hannibal kneels down to tie his wrists together behind his back. He closes his eyes and nuzzles at Hannibal’s chest in a silent plea. Hannibal doesn’t react. He doesn’t even stroke Will’s hair when he blindfolds him, and Will whimpers as he’s stuffed in the cage and locked in. His pulse rises as a menacing drum in his ears as he listens to Hannibal’s every movement in darkness.

W: H-Hannibal.

The man is a ghost, revealing his presence in only purposeful steps that slowly fade. Will listens intently to his every step up the stairs with both distress and delight. He’s getting something from his box. His intention is to harm but to harm nonetheless; not ignore as Will is robbed of his sight and touch. Will holds his breath in anticipation.

Hannibal soon returns, letting out a sigh through his nose that indicates frustration. Will wonders if it’s sincere or to make him squirm. He doesn’t, at least not until a violent zap of electricity hits his shoulder. He cries out in shock and lunges forward on his knees, hitting his forehead against the bars and gets zapped again in his side. He yelps and cowers to the other side before he hears the loud pops of electricity by his ear and squirms on the little surface he has to stay in the middle.

His muscles seize and relax forcefully and repeatedly, leaving him panting and pulling at the binds around his wrists until his hands pulsate. It’s jarring how lucid and clear he suddenly feels, but can’t control the muscles in his face. Saliva runs from his mouth as he groans in pain.

The way Hannibal circles the cage is perhaps intended to be intimidating, but Will can’t help but lean towards wherever he hears Hannibal’s steps. Hoping to feel fingers on his skin through the bars, or perhaps hear the zipper of Hannibal’s pants lowered. Will shouts when he’s stunned again and seizes up, every muscle clenching as he curls up on the floor of his cage and gurgles painfully.

He flinches repeatedly as he predicts another hit, and doesn’t register at first that Hannibal has walked away. Unexplainable words roll off his tongue between heavy breaths and he stays curled up on his knees, twitching in aftershocks. He’s going to vomit. Maybe that will get Hannibal’s attention.

Despair doesn’t begin to cover what he feels when he hears Hannibal sit on the couch a few feet away. He hears pages and instantly starts to sob, whimpering and shaking as he slowly sits back up again. The darkness is anything but a comfort. He’s stumbling in pitch black, abandoned.

W: Please, Hannibal..

The only indication he’s not alone is the sound of a page being turned, and his cries rise in volume to be heard. Attended to. He whimpers and clenches his fists, wishing he could pound them against the metal surrounding him.

W: Please!

There’s nothing but desperation in his screams, and the darkness and the silence brings him to slam his head against the bars. Sobbing, he does it again and again and howls in pain.

W: _Hannibal!_ Hannibal, H-HannibalHannibalHannibal-

H: Do you need to be gagged as well?

Will cries with relief and leans against the bars, grinding every inch of his face and body he physically can against it. It’s the sweetest words he’s ever heard. Never mind the threat or monotone carelessness in Hannibal’s voice; it’s music to Will’s ears.

W: Y-Yes, please, please. Hannibal, please. H-Hannibal.

A manic smile sticks to his face when he hears Hannibal approaching, panting and edging closer to the movement and screams when he’s tazed again. He shakes on the floor of his cage, cramping up and instinctively flinches back when he’s pulled out into Hannibal’s arms. Nausea creeps in and he dry heaves, shaking his head over and over until there’s no strength left in his body and he collapses against Hannibal’s chest.

He twitches against his will when Hannibal places him on his knees, wanting to lean into the touch but violently flinches away instead. He begs incoherently until smooth leather covers the lower part of his face and straps tightly around his head. A muzzled dog, he whimpers and falls back against cold metal when he’s shoved back into the cage and his ankles are tied together.

The sound of violent pops and buzzing makes him squirm in panic even if Hannibal gently squeezes his ankle, resting a warm hand on the arch of his foot before turning it upward. Will twists and shakes his head frenetically, whining behind his gag and feels his cock twitch to life before he’s tazed in the delicate part of his sole. His screams are tightly held back and muffled but wretched nonetheless, and continues when burning sparks hits the other side.

Hannibal caressing his feet is an act of pure sadism and nothing more, and Will spams and kicks until his legs are squeezed in and he’s locked in again. Every breath comes out wheezing, hissing in pain and he chokes between sobs. Without his hands he’s curled up painfully on his arm, and struggles to breathe until Hannibal grabs his hair through the bars and pulls him down. He has to work his fingers between the metal to guide him but Will is soon in a curled up, restrained version of the recovery position and his tongue slides forward and allows air down his throat.

He listens faintly as Hannibal walks away again, feeling the tiniest swell of appreciation in his chest that he’s not far away. Will focuses on his breathing for a few minutes, remaining silent and listening to Hannibal turn crisp pages and only shuddering in aftershocks. There’s an emptiness he can’t explain, and he’s horrified when he wishes Hannibal would’ve gagged him with the dildo instead.

He groans in frustration over his own thoughts and hits his head against the bars as if to knock some sense into it, but the thought stubbornly persists. He wouldn’t feel so empty, he’d have something to do and maybe even be graced with sleep until he be let out. He salivates at the thought and has no choice but to swallow continuously.

Hannibal must’ve chosen this gag knowing Will would be disappointed, and that only makes him whine for attention. Now that he knows what to ask for, he whimpers and squirms, the effort leaving him panting through his nose.

H: Be quiet, Will.

He moans uncontrollably at Hannibal’s mere voice, begging like an abandoned puppy as he grows painfully hard. He wants to sit up but doesn’t have the strength, so he tries to grind against the floor of the cage but his knees are too bent to allow his hips to lower far enough to get stimulation. He whines desperately, over and over.

H: Needy little boy. I should put you in there more often, perhaps that will teach you to appreciate what you’re given.

Will moans as he nods deliriously, not necessarily in agreement but to urge Hannibal to continue to grace him with conversation, even if it’s one-sided and arousingly demeaning. The head of his cock merely nudges against the bottom of the cage and he ruts against it best he can, whimpering for more of anything at all.

H: Will you be good if I give you what you want?

He nods fiercely and squirms in excitement when he hears Hannibal’s steps again, smiling behind his gag even when he’s roughly pulled out by his ankles. He wants to lounge into Hannibal’s arms but has no leverage bound and on his back, and whines desperately until the buckles on his gag are released and removed.

W: Pleaseplease, yes Hannibal I loveyou, love you please touch me-

He arches up and moans against Hannibal’s lips, whimpering at how quickly he pulls away but eagerly separates his lips again when the head of the dildo brushes against them. He wants to cry with joy that it’s not the bigger size that makes him choke, and sucks softly with a pleased hum when it’s secured around his head.

H: Is that better, darling?

Will moans in appreciation and doesn’t even put up a fight when he’s pushed into the cage again, blissfully zoning out and sucking contently on his gag as he lays on his back. He doesn’t hear Hannibal unzip his pants, and is stunned by the overwhelming sensation of his bare erection pressing in between the soles of his feet. He whimpers in confusion and devastation.

The warmth, the demanding touch keeping his limbs wherever Hannibal wants them and claims them with slick precum as he fucks whatever part of him is deemed worthy. It’s designed to purely tease, a demonstration of Hannibal’s cruelty and domination. Everything he has to offer in both pleasure and pain, but refuses to give. And Will sobs for more.

H: Greedy boy.

Deprived of his senses, Hannibal’s cock between his feet is like the most intense and gentle massage Will’s ever had. Not that he’s had many in comparison, no one’s ever been allowed that kind of intimacy. The one Will so fears. Hannibal doesn’t ask, and doesn’t cater to Will’s needs or wants. His actions are always for his own pleasure and amusement, and it’s terribly refreshing.

Hannibal thrusts a few more times, sliding his cock between Will’s sensitive skin for the only stimulation and Will suddenly moans, bucking his hips up and cries out behind his gag as he comes untouched. Hannibal only squeezes his feet tightly around his cock before he pushes his legs back into the cage.

Will wants to cry in ecstasy, writhing on the floor of his cage and swallowing endless saliva, sucking tightly around his gag and moaning as his cock pulsates in the sticky material of his boxers. He’s completely disgusted with himself, and entirely fulfilled.

H: You’ll want to fall asleep, Will.

Will grumbles in reply and curls up on his side, panting through his nose and already dozing off. The darkness and his mouth full along with the orgasmic aftershocks are so sedating he doesn’t react when Hannibal reaches in the cage and pulls his boxers down. He’d feel ashamed by the wet stains on the material if he wasn’t still riding the high of his climax.

H: This should help keep you awake, darling.

Will groans at the sweet words and the gentle vibrations that press between his cheeks and inside of him with ease. He’s so relaxed he welcomes the intrusion, moaning as Hannibal works the vibration to reach deep inside. Will doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but he’s mildly disappointed when Hannibal pulls his boxers up and strokes lovingly over his crotch before locking him in again.

Will is aware of the sounds he’s making; whimpering and moaning persistently as he’s consumed by nothing but stimulation, alone in pitch black. It’s like a horrible nightmare and a dream.

H: Are you capable of being good now, Will?

He squirms as much as he can by the question and starts panting again, whimpering and pressing his head against the bars. Abandonment is near, he knows it. Hannibal will leave him, and his chest aches. He whimpers as a crying puppy, hoping it will tug at his beloved sadist’s heartstrings.

H: Sweet boy..

Hannibal’s voice is low and tender with affection, making tears start to well up in Will’s eyes as Hannibal kneels by the cage. He whines desperately and sucks on his gag for comfort, shuddering and arching for Hannibal’s touch as he feels gentle fingers against his forehead. His neck screams in pain but he squirms and nuzzles Hannibal’s hand, pleading through a muffled sob.

H: Precious darling.. It pains me to leave you.

He’s going to lose his entire mind. He’s going to vomit and drown in it. Hannibal is finally going to drive him legitimately insane. His breath picks up, panicked and overwhelmed he whimpers between every short breath through his nose and bashes his head against the bars.

H: Would it help to sit on Daddy’s lap for a little while?

If he physically could he would cry with sweet relief. He nods over and over and whimpers in happiness when Hannibal pulls him out and wraps warm arms around him. He nuzzles deeply into Hannibal’s neck, pressing against him in both affection and need until he’s placed on his knees and the warmth disappears. He turns his head to where the sound of Hannibal’s steps are leading into the living room, whining quietly in confusion when Hannibal pats his lap, or the couch.

H: Come here then, darling.

He wants to scream, trembling in frustration over the cheap tricks and sheer laziness the form Hannibal’s sadism is taking. He shuffles forward anyway; the binds around his ankles stopping his movements before he makes any significant strides. Balance fails him but he stubbornly continues to move, clenching his fists tightly behind his back as he wobbles from side to side. Even though he knows the mapping of the room he still fears hitting his head on something. Hannibal doesn’t offer any more words of encouragement, not when Will’s already accepted the terms.

He’s delighted when his knees nudge against carpet, panting through his nose and squirming forward until he knocks into Hannibal’s leg. He whines happily when Hannibal strokes through his hair and the small part of his cheek that isn’t covered by the gag or blindfold. He wishes he could return the gesture; nuzzling at Hannibal’s thigh and wriggling closer in happiness.

It’s almost annoying when Hannibal checks his pulse, his temperature, massaging his jaw and loosens the binds around his wrists ever so slightly. The only pain Will feels is distance. He locates Hannibal’s crotch with his nose and presses into it before Hannibal kneels to untie his ankles. Hannibal cuddles him close as he strips him of his underwear, and Will is overjoyed, breathing in the scent of cologne and sucking contently on his gag as strong hands lift him up and into Hannibal’s lap, as promised.

He squeezes his thighs tightly around the doctor’s hips and nuzzles lovingly at his neck even when the vibrator is gently pulled out of his body, humming in the realization that its purpose was preparation. His heart flutters just a bit.

What he doesn’t expect is for his thighs to be tied to his ankles, but he finds he doesn’t mind. His hips press down into Hannibal’s lap as he relaxes. It’s too straining to lean on his knees, and he moans softly when Hannibal slicks his cock with lube and lift Will’s hips enough to aim the tip against his hole. As Hannibal slowly lowers him, Will gasps at how easy he slips in.

Will is painfully hard again as he’s fully seated on Hannibal’s cock. He can’t relieve the pressure of rise along the length, only nudge his own erection against Hannibal’s clothed torso as he squirms his hips back and forth. Hannibal’s whole length is buried deep within, and he clenches around the thickness for stimulation. Suddenly he’s worried this is all he’s going to get.

H: Sweet boy, Daddy spoils you. Are you not going to appreciate it?

Will doesn’t know how but nods desperately anyway, whimpering as he sucks and swallows around his gag continuously, grinding his hips down. Hannibal strokes through his hair and leans in close to press a kiss to his bruised cheekbone, but Will only finds the gesture a tease.

H: Do you feel better now, William? Filled on both ends?

He moans as he nods again and nuzzles into Hannibal’s neck, whining quietly when hands slowly lift his hips up and down, rocking him along Hannibal’s length. Will has no control of the movement or angle, and has no choice but to be deeply impaled over and over again. His hole quivers and tightens around the intrusion in keen appreciation.

H: Darling, precious boy.

He’s dangerously close to tears or an orgasm. His whole chest swells with love as he lets himself be rocked on Hannibal’s cock. He’s thoroughly overwhelmed, and for a split second despises himself for rejecting Hannibal’s advances in the morning glory. Will is aware he shouldn’t feel regret, but now, with loving hands on his skin as he slides up and down Hannibal’s heavenly cock, he understands intimacy.

He whimpers in pure dismay when Hannibal’s hands slowly lift his hips until he’s stretched around the head of his cock. He tries to press down to no avail, only succeeding in sharply straining his thighs. He whines as his hole tightens repeatedly, trying to suck the length further in and suddenly moans when Hannibal lowers him. Straight down, pushing intensively against his spot. His cock jerks and he audibly sucks on his gag, moaning and squirming his hips the little movement he’s capable of.

H: What a good boy. Was that fun? Do you want to bounce on Daddy’s lap again?

He doesn’t even feel a sliver of shame when he nods over and over, he only moans when he’s slowly rocked up and down again, tightening when the head stretches his hole. When he’s held there he whimpers desperately, shuddering as he’s teased with the tip nudging inside before Hannibal lifts his hips enough to pull out.

Will squirms and wriggles around until his thighs scream in pain, nuzzling eagerly at Hannibal’s neck as he’s lowered into his lap without stimulation. Hannibal caressing his chest is no comfort, and Will whines and nudges best he can at Hannibal’s waist with his knee.

H: Do you want it so badly, darling?

He almost growls as he nods, frowning behind the blindfold and pressing his hips down. Hannibal suddenly undoes the straps around his head, pulling the dildo from his mouth and caressing his jaw with both hands before removing the blindfold as well. Will moans in unexpected relief.

H: Then use your words, Will.

There’s an uncharacteristic intensity in Hannibal’s look. Soft somehow. Present, and bare with humanity. Will pecks at Hannibal’s jaw as if to calm his beautiful beast. Sweetly, reassuringly. Even if Hannibal doesn’t require it. He shudders when Hannibal strokes his hips before reaching for his cock again, already slipping back inside.

W: Please please, H-Hannibal fuck me, I love you, love you. L-Love you, please-

H: I would set the entire earth aflame. I would demolish every breathing thing until there was nothing but the two of us left in this world. I would do anything for you, Will. Anything but let you go.

Will knows, but relishes in a shudder anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There is more to come. ❤︎_


	11. Ambroisie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There is peace amongst submission and force._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags for warnings, and thank you for reading. ♥

H: Yarrow was known as Herba militaris because of its ability to stop bleeding, primarily on the battlefield.

W: Seems unnecessary. Neither of us are at battle of the brisk of war.

Will isn’t entirely convinced by his words, and Hannibal agrees by offering a branch of white petals for Will to enjoy the licorice scent before the doctor picks off a petal to be tasted. To bring truth to his words he allows his lips to connect to Hannibal’s fingers as he hums approvingly over the surprisingly sweet taste the flower brings. Hannibal returns his fond look.

H: As much as I appreciate it, Will. There’s no need to deceive me by charm.

Hannibal smiles through his words and strokes Will’s cheek with the back of his fingers for a short moment before his focus returns to his creation, or rather performance. 

W: Why would I do that, Hannibal?

His tone isn’t offended, but curious. Even if he knows what Hannibal is going to say it’s still refreshing to hear his own thoughts laid out so simple and bare. Hannibal continues to deceive him too, but not when it comes to Will’s thoughts and desires. He doesn’t need to.

H: You are at battle with yourself. You’d like to believe you fear me, and that your actions and merely the consequence.

A sudden whiff of arousal causes blood to rush down Will’s body, and he wonders if it’s the thought of fear or being read so candidly, so easily. Hannibal’s vicious capabilities or intimate knowledge? He turns away from Hannibal and leans against the counter, running his fingers along the foot of his wine glass.

W: But I don’t.

H: Will..

He doesn’t bother worrying whether the soft expression on Hannibal’s face is sincere as he looks up, and allows loving fingers to trace violent bruises by his temple.

H: You never have. Darling, you would destroy yourself before ever walking this earth without my presence.

W: You’re projecting.

Will smiles sweetly and doesn’t wince when Hannibal taps the yellow and purple discoloration on his cheek in almost a disciplinary manner. Rejection is a game Will is always thrilled to play.

H: Perhaps. However you can’t deny the sentiment.

Will feels cornered and pulls away, circling behind Hannibal’s figure to avoid eye contact and instantly misses the touch. He doesn’t torture himself by holding back and wraps an arm around Hannibal, caressing his chest and rests his forehead against the back of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal is the embodiment of stability, neither retreating or leaning into the touch. Unmoving as a mountain Will adores so dearly.

H: The latin name of militaris comes from Achilles, who used Yarrow to heal his soldiers wounded in battle. It also reduces anxiety, and stress.

W: You think I’m under stress.

H: It would certainly be surprising if you weren’t.

Will wonders if Hannibal wants him to be. As if Will’s foreboding anxieties are directly related to the ever increasing meat supply. Hannibal would’ve worded things differently if he wished goodness to Will’s mental state. He traces the lean muscles along Hannibal’s chest and kisses just below his ear nonetheless.

W: You expect to share everything.

H: As do you. Even death.

Will hums quietly when Hannibal’s arms wrap around him, pulling him close enough for a profoundly sweet and loving kiss. It’s arousing to imagine the same man capable of such wickedness embracing him with only love. Will strokes through Hannibal’s hair and inhales the faint scent of cologne as they pull apart.

W: Have you made a decision?

H: Yes.

W: Who?

It’s of no matter to Will, because whatever Hannibal is planning to happen will happen regardless, but there’s a hint of morbid curiosity in his gut. Hannibal choses to amuse him.

H: Do you recall the book of paintings I gave you?

Something near dread hits him in disappointment, and he leans away from Hannibal’s touch as if he’s been burned. The doctor doesn’t share his worrisome expression, and simply continues to gather white petals.

W: So you were offended by a kindhearted painter. What did he do, not value your mere presence enough for your standards?

H: What makes you consider him kindhearted? 

Will mutters and glares as he steps away, picking up his glass of wine and swirling the deep red liquid around in annoyance before emptying it down his throat in one sweep, just because Hannibal had probably spent a decent amount of time and money on it. It’s frustrating when his rebellion doesn’t garner a reaction.

W: The paintings. There was this.. Unmistakable love in each brushstroke. A loner but not.. Lonely.

Hannibal doesn’t belittle him by asking if Will can relate, but praises his empathy by refilling his glass with a faint smile. Will understands the symbolism; destroying his old self for a rebirth.

H: You were lonely.

Will scoffs but doesn’t deny it, swallowing down more bitter red and lightly kicking the counter in obvious frustration and restlessness.

W: Or just at peace.

H: Will, we both know peace is a concept you’ve always found unattainable.

Will is positively steaming, and Hannibal proceeding his cooking in an imitation of bliss isn’t helping. He wants to throw his glass at the wall or burst into tears, without knowing with certainty why. His jaw tightens as his foot carelessly keeps banging against wood, like a drum roll for something to happen.

W: I don’t-

H: Will, if you can’t keep your limbs under control I will. Or you can sit on your knees.

Hannibal’s tone is as serious as death, but Will is relentlessly unthreatened even if the doctor’s ruthless hand is brandishing a blade. He scoffs again but keeps still.

H: Are you capable of being in control?

When Hannibal faces him with this genuine expression heat rushes to Will’s face and his cock twitches to life in his pants, straining against the material. He fights back a smile and nods hesitantly, imprisoned by Hannibal’s gaze; penetrating him to the very core but with the deepest endearment.

H: Are you now?

W: No.

H: Take off your clothes, Will.

It’s more excitement than obedience that guides him to quickly unbutton his shirt and drop it to the ground, instantly pulling his pants and the rest of his clothes off to add to the pile on the floor. His erection stands proud, even with faint marks and bruises. Hannibal barely looks at him as he snaps his fingers to the floor, and Will is on his knees in an instant. A pleasant warmth spreads through his body.

H: Where are your manners, Will?

Hannibal gestures disapprovingly to the clothes on the floor and resumes his cooking as Will folds them with shaky hands. He waits for another command but when he receives none, crawls to sit by Hannibal’s feet. He doesn’t dare to touch, only closing his eyes in delight as Hannibal’s hand brushes through his hair.

H: Do you feel better now, darling?

W: Mhm..

Hannibal keeps stroking his hair and Will nearly melts, praising the thick fog that claims his ever-racing mind and resting his head against Hannibal’s thigh with a soft sigh. His arms wrap around the doctor’s leg even when a shoe finds his cock and slowly presses down against the floor.

H: Clothes are a privilege, Will. One you may be undeserving of, don’t you think?

Will doesn’t get a chance to answer until Hannibal mercilessly presses down and he cries out, wretched and desperate as he’s crushed to the floor, hands grasping Hannibal’s pants and trying to pull the pressure away.

W: No! No, stop, f-fucking stop!

H: _Manners._

When Hannibal concentrates the weight to one target and slowly moves side to side, grinding the pressure down, Will doesn’t recognize his voice as human. He screams until he tastes blood, thrashing.

W: Please! Please, please, p-please sir m-mercy please-

He sobs uncontrollably, struggling to breathe and pressing his face deeply into Hannibal’s crotch, whimpering when the pressure is released just enough to allow air to reach his lungs. Hannibal mocks him with a gentle hand to his cheek, stroking with the back of his fingers and only smearing burning tears around.

H: You didn’t like that?

Will can only cry and shake his head, shocked and mildly nauseous when the pressure returns, sobbing against Hannibal’s clothed erection as the weight slowly presses down again.

H: You don’t want to be stepped on again?

W: No, no, no more! No m-more! Please sir, p-please sir, please sir no more-

H: Pain makes you polite, darling. How precious.

Will sobs when Hannibal retreats, too split open and raw to find the strength to flee or attempt to soften Hannibal’s edges. It’s only instinct that guides him to hovering shaky hands above his stubborn, tortured erection to protect himself. The counter grinds against his spine and he waits for what feels like an eternity to be comforted in any capacity, but Hannibal is soon occupied with Yarrow once more.

W: H-Hannibal..

He cries when he’s ignored, unsure of the sincerity of his tears but wrapping his arms tightly around the doctor’s hips nonetheless, refusing to let go when Hannibal attempts to step away.

W: Daddy..

H: Do I need to leave you in your cage?

Hannibal only succeeds in making Will cry and cling even more, but he figures Hannibal ultimately doesn’t mind. Confinement may please his sadistic desires but Will on his knees, broken and begging, feeds the narcissism. Will is unquestionably more aware of Hannibal’s needs and triggers than his own. He sniffles and shakes his head over and over.

W: N-No, please don’t.

It’s more painful than anything as Will forces himself to let go, but when Hannibal steps away to look through the fridge Will follows. His muscles tremble with exhaustion and distress but he crawls hopefully, close behind Hannibal’s every movement through the kitchen.

Hannibal returns to the counter, and Will nuzzles at lightly as he possibly can at his thigh before the doctor steps away again. It barely takes a second before Will follows, and is finally praised with a deep and tender kiss as Hannibal leans down, cupping his face and stroking so soothingly Will squirms with happiness. The kiss certainly isn’t for reassurance, but rather a reminder Hannibal understands, and is capable of such deep love at a timing entirely at his choice.

H: Beautiful.

W: Thank you..

Will feels intoxicated, completely at a loss. Thankfully he can always rely on Hannibal.

~

H: Your conclusions about your masochistic desires are surprisingly freudian, Will. Riddled with such shame.

It’s ironic to berate Will for feeling shame whilst he’s entirely undressed, and Hannibal is not. They’re both aware however that it’ll take more than having dinner with half their party unclothed to cause friction. Will mutters.

W: It’s not as much shame as it is wishful thinking.

Hannibal smiles and rests a warm hand on Will’s arm, perhaps to melt the ice that clings to Will’s consciousness.

H: You are already aware of self espace; the freedom that comes with letting go. Judgement is absent now.

Will’s gaze steers away from Hannibal’s soft one, perhaps because it is just that. He struggles to accept Hannibal’s humanity, and both hopes and fears he’ll have to confront why. He rolls his eyes when Hannibal squeezes his arm in an affectionate and demanding gesture before pulling away.

W: Embracing my nature serves your cause. Indulging in masochism allows you the opportunity to indulge in sadism.

Hannibal believes he’s mastered the art of hiding his true emotions, but Will can see the disapproving twitch to his upper lip. It’s nice to see him fumbling, even just a bit.

H: I have no difficulty indulging either way, Will.

W: Then why must I?

It’s such an honest question, full of hopeful innocence. It causes an almost sad smile to Hannibal’s expression.

H: There is peace amongst submission and force.

W: But you wish to bring war.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Will sighs as he follows another train of thought instead.

W: Aren’t you curious what my thoughts are regarding your decision?

H: I’m aware, Will. But I can’t refuse your confession.

They both smile, and Will wants to shower the good doctor with love. The air feels lighter and more manageable, and Will is grateful for it. He appreciates the contrasting sweetness the Yarrow brings to the meat.

W: It’s relieving. As if the one thing I know to be true is the inevitable murder.

Hannibal gives a small nod in approval, urging him to continue but doesn’t impose with demanding eyes. Hannibal treads carefully, raising his glass of wine to enjoy the scent before tasting. Will feels powerful withholding.

H: If you were my victim, Will. You would have no responsibility. No ownership of what would transpire. It’s a rational desire you have, darling. Even if it doesn’t seem to be.

Will feels a sting of bizarre sadness. It’s like watching something you’ve considered ideal slowly start to slip away as Hannibal coaxes him into admission.

W: There’s a thought so severe. So revolting its expelled before it has time to fester in my brain.

H: How you are not a victim. But a participant.

Will deliberately drifts off to escape, trying to avoid the sight of faded bruises and marks as he looks down to his lap. He sits silently, tracing the stitches on his thigh with his fingertips. He wants to rip them out.

Hannibal allows him to recoil, sensing his delicate state. He’d pushed him on two points, and leaves him to recover as he picks up their empty plates and goes to clean up, remaining in a stubborn but inviting silence for Will to either continue or change the subject. Will is mildly shocked how accommodating Hannibal can be.

~

The familiar sound of a lid should certainly terrify him, but Hannibal’s touch along his hips and the insides of his thighs is remarkably soothing, and Will gives in to the blindfold as he closes his eyes. The rope around his wrists connect to both his ankles and around his cock and balls, effectively making every movement a self-inflicted chain of pressure. But when Hannibal wraps a slick hand around the base of his cock and slowly strokes upward, he’s so pleasantly surprised a moan escapes him. If pleasuring him with a handjob was Hannibal’s big plan for the evening, Will had no complaints. Not even the ropes were a nuisance.

H: How are you feeling, Will?

It’s such a startling question his eyebrows tug together in a frown, letting out a soft gasp when Hannibal’s fingers squeeze around the head of his cock, keeping a consistent pressure while speedily rubbing up and down.

W: Oh, fuck.. Goodplease, please keep going..

H: I will, as long as you remember to remain polite.

Will cries out in both confusion and pleasure, squirming best he can up into Hannibal’s touch and groans miserably when it disappears.

H: Do you understand?

W: Y-Yes.. Please.

He’s not entirely sure he does, but he would allow Hannibal to amputate one of his limbs if that meant he’d touch him again. When he does neither, Will wriggles around on his back, hissing when he attempts to stretch out his leg to reach out.

H: My perception of polite includes good manners.

Will wants to cry. Or throw a punch. Instead he whimpers and continues to press his hips up to hopefully meet Hannibal’s hand.

W: Yes, sir. Please touch me.

His words are completely riddled with sly sourness, but Will can register a faint smile as Hannibal strokes him again, caressing his hip in the other hand. Every contact exudes the utmost amusement and endearment, and Will finds himself fighting back a smile of his own. 

Hannibal takes his time; appreciating Will to the fullest as if it was his last opportunity. He focuses the pressure around the head, urging Will to climax but pulls away just in time, stroking lightly along the length with loving, torturous fingertips. Will can’t find the right words, let alone breathe through moans.

W: Fuck please-

He only moans when Hannibal slaps his cock and immediately whines for more.

W: Please sir, please sir-

A lubed finger circles around his hole before slipping inside, and Will cries out when Hannibal strokes him again, too slow and definitely too gentle. But it’s angelic, wet and painfully teasing.

W: Please..

H: You can’t possibly be close already, darling.

Will lets out a cry in both embarrassment and uncontrollable pleasure, panting harshly as Hannibal’s movements remain equally soft. When his finger hits his prostate in an intense massage is when he almost yells, entire body working to thrust into Hannibal’s hand.

W: Oh please! P-Please please, let me come _please_ fuck-

H: Is that what you want?

W: Yessir, y-yes sir yes please..

Hannibal tightens the pressure again and speeds up, bringing him to climax like it’s his job. It doesn’t take long until Will moans, crying out in ecstasy and covering himself and Hannibal’s still moving hand in cum. He writhes on the bed, knees grinding together to protect himself from Hannibal’s demanding fingers, stroking every drop from him.

W: H-Hannibal..

H: Beautiful boy.

W: Please..

Hannibal nudges at his prostate and he whimpers before the doctor slowly pulls out, circling around his quivering hole again as he continues to stroke along his length. As Hannibal’s fingers run over the head of his cock he flinches, over and over again before shaking his head with a pained moan.

W: N-No..

H: You just begged for this, Will. Is this another choice you refuse to honor?

Will cries, shaking his head at both the question and how Hannibal continues to touch him, alternating between gentle strokes and almost possessive ones. As if he were the sole owner of Will’s entire world. Will refuses to indulge in the thought and twitches when the pressure returns with the speed, demanding he perform again.

W: No.. Oh god, I’m gonna- Oh please stop-

H: My poor boy, have I neglected you?

Hannibal’s touch is relentless, bringing him to the edge as the other hand spreads his thighs again. Just as the cup fills to the brim, threatening to spill over is when Hannibal pulls away, and Will thrusts into nothing with a sob.

H: You just asked me to stop, darling..

Will can’t form thoughts to vocalize them, and without the ability to physically reach out without harming himself he can do nothing but cry and hope Hannibal will be lenient. He decides then and there actual torture was nothing compared to this, and he had the scars to prove it.

H: Lovely, precious boy.. Is it that upsetting?

Hannibal’s tone drops to that distinctly recognizable one. Low and mesmerizing. The one that never fails to make Will’s chest tighten and squeeze more tears from him as if Hannibal’s hand was wrapped around his lungs. He sobs as he nods. It’s too dark. Hannibal is there, logically Will knows it, but he can’t feel even a sliver of his presence, let alone envision the falsely concerned look on his face he misses so dearly. He can feel himself slipping from Hannibal’s grip and further into the unknown darkness.

W: P-Please don’t do this to me..

H: You need to learn to comfort yourself.

His heart is going to burst. The air is thick, barely reaching the back of his throat before its expelled. Will is certain life is slowly being squeezed from him, and all he can do is hope Hannibal will revive him. He’s panting, fumbling in lonesome darkness to find his way out as he aches for Hannibal to guide him. Comfort him.

W: N-No please don’t, don’t do this-

H: Not now? Or ever?

A chuckle takes him by complete surprise, laughing with tearful desperation and moans abruptly when Hannibal touches him again. Will can picture Hannibal smiling too, and warm refreshing air returns to his lungs. Even now, he finds himself deeply in love. He isn’t just being guided back into the light, he’s being blinded as Hannibal strokes him, running the other hand lovingly along his hips.

W: N-Never.. Oh, fuck. Never leave me there. Never, never please never leave m-me..

He sobs, squirming and trying to curl up as well as reach out. Hannibal’s light touches are just that, and Will can barely recognize them over his own turmoil. He’s aware he is Hannibal whole world, but he can choose to leave him in a dark place if only it amuses him. Every fiber of his being is desperate for Hannibal not to abandon him, physically or mentally. Will is soon panting again, only edging closer to breaking down every second he’s met with silence.

W: Oh god please untie me, untie me, please. Please. Please. Please.

He’s begging in every short breath, sobbing and feeling a wretched scream start to build up in his chest before Hannibal suddenly squeezes tightly around his cock and jerks with such speed and force he cries out in a moan of climax instead. Overwhelming pleasure overtakes panic; shuddering and ejaculating all over himself even when Hannibal brings a rough hand to his thigh in a slap. Will is grateful as the terror slips away, allowing soft moans to escape him in only pleasure.

H: Good boy. Good boy..

W: Fuck..

The air is purifying, cleansing him of anything resembling dread. He’s ecstatic even in tragedy; eternally grateful to be brought back into the warmth of life and on the other hand sobbing in horrible pain as Hannibal refuses to let go of his sensitive erection. Hannibal’s hand stay wrapped around him even when his thighs press together in protection and every attempt to squirm away only results in more horrific stimulation.

W: S-Stop. _Ah_\- Stop!

H: You reject my generosity?

Will can hear the smile and it garners a wretched, frustrated scream in response. The more he struggles and squirms the more pressure is applied around his cock, keeping him relentlessly hard in Hannibal’s sinister hand. He cries when Hannibal shushes him, flinching when gentle fingers stroke along his length again.

W: P-Please, stop. Please. H-Hannibal-

He lets out a cry in both pain and relief when Hannibal squeezes him tightly before letting go, and he tries to roll over on his side but his arm is an unmoving wall of bound flesh keeping him in position. He can hear dripping, slippery hands rubbing together and in foreboding terror he screams once more, in complete primitiveness.

W: No! No! No, n-no, no!

An unexpected moan silences him when an almost loving finger brush against his hole before slipping inside with ease, immediately pushing at his prostate. Will throws his head back, hips grinding up against the gentle touch that trails around the base of his cock. The terror slips away again, but Will knows it can return in an instant.

W: Thank you..

H: Precious. For what?

Hannibal’s tone is demanding rather than curious, and Will is overcome with love. He speaks words they’re both aware of only to emphasize them. Or to humiliate. To establish power dynamics. In an overwhelming trance, he almost smiles.

W: K-Keeping me here. Grounded. O-Oh, please...

Hannibal praises him, intently massaging his prostate and only keeping a light grip around his cock as it pulsates and twitches in hesitant pleasure.

H: Are you saying you’re incapable of controlling your own mind, Will? Your body?

W: Fuck, yes..

He moans and rolls his hips into Hannibal’s hand only to instantly regret it when the connection reaches the sensitive head. He jerks away in a whimper and wants only the ability to wrap his legs around Hannibal’s neck in pure affection.

H: My dearest, do you need my guidance before you need air in your lungs?

The affirmation comes in a shout when Hannibal grips his thigh, keeping his legs apart as his tongue meets the underside of Will’s cock, tracing the vein up before repeatedly running over the tip. Will cries, hips jerking undecidedly up and down against the warm wetness.

W: N-No! No, no stop, yes fuck, stop!

Hannibal chuckles and Will wants the definitive, cold death.

H: No?

Comforting pleasure washes over him when Hannibal gently moves his finger around deep inside, pulling out before easily penetrating him again, pretending to search for his spot to purely tease before lovingly stimulating it. Will moans in relief and barely reacts when Hannibal slowly strokes along his length again.

H: Beautiful boy. Will you come a third time for me?

Dread returns in the form of a distressed whimper, a bizarre laugh lingering in his chest as tears roll down his cheeks. 

W: N-No, please.. Stop..

Hannibal responds by swallowing his cock whole, forcing him into a torturous climax with an intense pressure as he bobs his head. Will thrashes, crying as he comes deep down Hannibal’s warm, tight throat. Hannibal’s hands wrap around his thighs and lower back, flipping him over to straddle Hannibal’s face with no other option than stay buried in his throat. Will whimpers against the mattress and squirms, panting when two fingers penetrate him again as he’s emptied of every drop.

W: S-Stop, s-stop.. Stop. O-Oh, stop! Please stop..

For a split second he wonders if Hannibal can even breathe, but heavenly relief takes over him when the ropes are untied and he’s finally released to retreat. He cries out when he pulls out of Hannibal’s mouth and immediately lies down to wrap his arms around Hannibal’s waist, nuzzling into his shirt and doesn’t even react when the blindfold is removed. His eyes are closed anyway; refusing to acknowledge his or Hannibal’s overwhelming existence. Luckily it fades, for Hannibal encourages the heavy fog of unconsciousness to take him; whispering tender commands close to his ear.


	12. Primevère

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now he had let the devil into his bed with open arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are in the tags, but again I'd like to emphasize the induced panic attacks and sensory deprivation. I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless. ♡

The moonlight is calming as always, the stars glowing bright in the undisturbed countryside as they get further into the dreary wilderness. The painter surrounds himself with lonesome darkness, and Will’s chest aches in self recognition.

There’s a palpable tension in the car, and Will wonders why Hannibal won’t relieve it. He must know Will is neither ready nor in the right mindset, so why rush things?

W: You’re too eager.

Something resembling fear swirls around in his gut, making him almost nauseous with dread as he searches for eye contact with a tearful expression. Hannibal is as vacant as the road, staring at it blankly as they make their way through the dark, and panic threatens to claim Will’s every limb.

H: You can not expect to grow if you cling to what has been.

W: I do neither.

For a moment Will thinks he should throw himself out of the car. It’d be an easy hit, fast and certain. He’d break bones and tear skin, and Hannibal would heal him. His fingers curl around the handle in careful preparation. It’s locked, of course, and Hannibal sighs through his nose and reaches over to stroke through Will’s hair with a look of concern.

H: So often we’ve discussed your involvement.

W: My involvement is always voluntary.

It’s a profound admission, one Will has avoided, and now it’s expressed in an angry sneer as he leans away from Hannibal’s gentle touch. Their distance doesn’t last long, for Will grabs Hannibal’s wrist from the steering wheel and pulls it close. An hour and fourteen minutes left in this metal chamber. Hannibal almost smiles in adoration when Will roughly lets go and turns away to stare deep into the gloomy woods.

H: Acceptance is blossoming in you, Will.

~

It takes thirty six agonizing minutes for Will to beg. Tears run steadily down his cheeks and his hands tremble, clasped tightly in his lap. Hannibal doesn’t spare him a glance.

W: I can’t. Stop. Please, just- just fucking stop the car. 

H: You can and you will. 

W: _God_..

He whimpers and releases a sob, turning back to the window to watch dark trees pass them by. He thinks about the painter. The loving brush strokes, the careful characterization of his every four legged companion. How he values their company. Memories of Will’s own companions flash before his eyes, although it feels like a different life entirely. A dream perhaps, one where they were his escape from harm. Now he had let the devil into his bed with open arms.

~

It’s either an excruciating hour or four later when Will finds himself hyperventilating. With no option of escape he acts out instead, slamming the back of his fist to the window that refuses to break, sobbing as he turns his helplessness a weapon against Hannibal instead. He squirms in his seat and pounds his fist to Hannibal’s arm repeatedly before attempting to crawl into the back seat. 

Images of his own body severed into pieces with his dogs lapping up the blood surrounding his abandoned figure flashes for his eyes, and he howls through tears and doesn’t even register how the car comes to a stop.

The cold air that hits his skin and Hannibal emerging from the vacant darkness that fills his right side is Will’s cue to run, and he lounges forward only to fall face first into asphalt. Hannibal grabs his arms not with force but steadiness, tying them together and Will kicks violently in panic. 

W: No! No, s-stop! No!

H: This is for your own safety, Will. Believe me, you do not want to push me further.

Will growls and continues to fight, wincing in pain as Hannibal tightly ties his legs before pulling him into the back seat and slamming the door shut. The fact that refusing to _murder_ an innocent man with such resemblance to Will himself was considered _pushing_ Hannibal was enough to make Will stew in anger, and he thrashes around the back seat until he tires out.

The ropes are more painful than usual, having been tied when Hannibal was in such a rare, agitated mood. Will feels prideful in having caused the minor and unusual spark of emotion until he as always, asks himself if it’s really sincere. He barely has time to wonder what the _fuck_ Hannibal is doing out there before the door opens and the man himself kneels down to his level, grabbing the collar of Will’s shirt and forcing their eyes to meet.

Hannibal looks exhausted. Or it’s intentional. Either way, his eyes glow with a peculiar purposefulness, and Will looks to the dark treetops behind him instead. He can’t shake the feeling of their familiarity, and his gaze returns back to Hannibal for answers.

H: You are overheated, Will. The biting, cold air must be wonderfully invigorating.

Will frowns but relaxes slightly when Hannibal rests the back of his fingers to Will’s forehead, and the coldness is indeed invigorating. The heat that goes hand in hand with panic starts to slip away as he’s enveloped with icy, crisp and clean air. He closes his eyes, and Hannibal’s voice dips into a familiar tone.

H: My darling, allow yourself to depart. Far away from your terror. You are already falling away.

~

Autonomy is something Will has learned never to take for granted. He treasures it and praises its divine freedom so highly when Hannibal takes it away, strapping his arms to cross over his chest and ankles together to strictly hinder any movement. The straitjacket is not only sinister in its suppressing form but a traumatic memory, and Will squirms as much as possible on his feet to reach Hannibal’s comforting chest with his nose, pleading with overflowing tears. It’s no comfort to witness the small twitch to Hannibal’s lips in fondness.

Hannibal leans in to allow Will the touch and takes the opportunity to take his sight away, joining the smooth leather already covering his mouth across his eyelids as well. It isn’t pity that guides Hannibal to wrap his arms around Will’s trembling figure, allowing him to cry against his neck as Hannibal strokes through his hair. Only affection makes Hannibal’s chest swell with love, as well as arousal steers a loving hand to Will’s clothed crotch. 

Even through tears, Will’s treacherous body matches Hannibal’s arousal and eagerly presses up against his hand. Hannibal comforts him by tenderly kissing his cheek, over and over as he purrs lovingly in his ear.

H: My _tesoro_, aren’t you so precious..

Will knows abandonment follows love, for Hannibal desires him most when chains keep them apart. He almost falls over when he tries to raise his foot, crying brokenly into Hannibal’s neck and attempting to climb up into his arms. He has no leverage, and can only appreciate Hannibal’s gentle caress between his legs. Will cries so fiercely he can hardly breathe.

H: Be good.

The smile in Hannibal’s voice is the last thing Will is allowed to treasure before something firm and dooming is pushed into his ear to block out any sound, and he jerks away with a whimper and shakes his head miserably. A rough hand clamps over his cheekbones and squeezes tightly, keeping him still as the other ear is plugged as well. A faint ringing exudes from the silence, and Will is sure he’s going to vomit from the confining density the darkness and silence holds.

Hannibal’s knee presses into the back of Will’s thigh as a strong hand grips the ties around his back, and Will does nothing to help or make it easier as he’s lowered to the basement floor; wriggling and squirming like an eel until his cheek meets cool cement.

Hannibal regards him with both curiosity and endearment, allowing Will to nuzzle at his shoe simply because he’d found it by himself. Will screams into the gag when Hannibal moves his foot, and immediately squirms to locate it again. Blind, deaf and bound, Hannibal wonders how many panic attacks Will will suffer, if any at all. The three hour drive had perhaps spent his adrenaline to prevent one now.

He lets Will rest his head on his shoe again once he finds it, watching how he much like a dog attempts to curl up on the only connection he has in fear of losing it. Hannibal refrains from praising the action and wonders how long he’ll be able to. His heart already stings with the desire to comfort, but the warm rush of sadistic excitement is consistently dominant in decision making. Besides, this was a necessity.

Will’s head hits the floor when Hannibal’s foot disappears, and he sobs as he wriggles wildly to find it again. When he doesn’t, the dreadful possibility he’s been abandoned dawns on him. Hannibal could be there in the room, doing nothing but watch as Will spirals into madness, or he could’ve left him to ride out the storm by himself. Shut the door on him. Will doesn’t know which is worse and the thought of both is enough to make him hyperventilate, the sound of his heartbeat rising into a deafening, desperate drum forcing him to scream for relief.

The thudding continues, pounding hard and fast in his chest as new, frightened blood pumps through his veins. Will can hear it trickling, can hear the sound of muscles clenching as he brings his knees up to push himself across the floor. He doesn’t make it far, as his bound arms and chest weigh him down against the cement. 

He screams again and it’s endless, kicking with both feet tied and thrashing until he aches with the effort, ending up on his back and only continues to scream. He has no perception if it’s audible, but he can hear it as if he’s screaming into density itself. A wall between him and reality, shutting him out to stew in loneliness.

That’s when Will realizes the meaning of the punishment. Refusing to destroy his old self, Hannibal wanted to remind him there was no use clinging to what has been. The loneliness and emptiness that was Will’s life before Hannibal. Will is more annoyed than shocked by Hannibal’s narcissism, but he can’t deny the truthfulness to the doctor’s importance in Will’s life. As much as he is Hannibal’s world, it’s a mutual adoration.

Will tries to focus on the cool, refreshing air that hints with the scent of blood instead of the pressing darkness. He almost laughs when thinking this is another experiment of Hannibal’s exposure therapy, leaving Will robbed of his senses to soak in the realization this is where Hannibal had mutilated his latest victim. The memory of Hannibal behind the saw plays behind shut eyes, assertive and experienced hands separating limbs to dispose of those _unworthy_ before meeting Will’s horrified gaze. The same hands capable of such wretchedness had only minutes ago been intertangled in Will’s hair, been caressing him with profound respect and endearment. 

Will cries in heartache, longing for those hands to terrorize or soothe him again.

It could be hours or minutes later Will either makes the conscious decision to move or does so out of pure desperation. He squirms on his back, bringing his knees up to push himself back to where he believes the stairs are. Hannibal’s scent is vacant, but Will knows Hannibal wouldn’t have given him the opportunity to escape unless he wanted him to. He rolls over on his side, panting through his nose as he flips himself onto his knees and feels a small sense of victory for it.

He can’t exactly crawl, but he’s done this before. Pure persistence gives him the strength to once more shuffle forward on his knees with his feet tied, swaying with the lack of balance and on the verge of vomiting, his thighs knock into wood. He doesn’t take the time to celebrate, only sobbing in joy and distress as he leans down to rest his arms on a step and lifting himself up.

Will knows it’s a regular staircase, but the steps are impossibly big and horrifyingly endless. Without the possibility of knowing how many are left, he can only muster up more strength to keep going, groaning with exhaustion until his head finally knocks against another obstacle; the door.

It’s not a difficult decision nor is it painful to slam his head against the wooden frame, over and over in the knowing that Hannibal would never allow him to do serious damage to the organ he possibly values most in Will’s body. At least the damage should be Hannibal’s to claim.

It would’ve been a polite few knocks if it wasn’t for Will’s howling. His voice is raw but continues to cry and whimper without his control. Every inch of Will’s body is acting on animalistic impulse; bare with honesty and simplicity.

Hannibal’s heart flutters when he opens the door, watching as Will drags himself up the last few steps but stops him with a threatening foot to his chest. It only takes a second for Will to understand and accept, and Hannibal is both pleasantly surprised and in awe by how Will cries but slowly squirms back down a step or two. Hannibal waits in silent curiosity, but Will is too overwhelmed to make a decision of defiance or force his body to retreat back into his hell.

Will knows he’s being watched, and by crawling forward again he’s inviting the possibility all his hard work be undone, but Hannibal’s weakness for him particularly in this state is not to be underestimated. And besides, his efforts must count for at least impressing Hannibal.

He drags himself back up the stairs and forward, feeling nauseous with dreadful emptiness and screams once more for attention. The pain in his throat is an unexpected relief, and suddenly he’s being dragged along the floor by the binds around his back. Not even a direct touch, but Will shudders and squirms towards Hannibal’s presence.

When soft fingers stroke over his cheek he lets out a cry in gratitude, twisting and arching up against the touch and when the buckles on his gag are released and removed he lounges best he can into Hannibal’s kneeling figure.

W: Please! Pleaseplease t-thank you, Hannib-_Hnn_-

He groans as the gag is strapped on tightly again, crying and nuzzling roughly at Hannibal’s thigh in a desperate apology. As if he needs further convincing a hand meets his cheek in a harsh slap, but Will only moans and nods deliriously. The contact is sobering, and his heart stills to a less panicked pace as blood rushes down his body in excited arousal.

Hannibal doesn’t mind how he can’t keep his hands away, slowly pushing dark curls between his fingers and leaning down for a mocking but all the while loving kiss to Will’s gag. Will responds by nodding again, having learned his lesson he’s eager to please and be welcomed back to a shared reality.

He remains quiet when the gag is removed, and Hannibal brushes his lips to Will’s cheek in approval, leaving a few soft kisses there before allowing their lips to meet. Will is overcome with heavenly sensation, fighting back the urge to sink his teeth into Hannibal’s tender skin.

He’s almost relieved when the doctor pulls away, and Hannibal smiles as a soft moan escapes Will’s lips as he carefully removes the earplugs, tracing the shell of his ear in only affection. Will remains in a suspenseful or obedient silence, and it makes Hannibal’s heart flutter once more.

H: How are you feeling, Will?

Knowing Hannibal, Will figures it’s a trick question. He bites his tongue and doesn’t move a muscle in fear of setting an action into motion. He’s not threatened when Hannibal rests his hand around Will’s neck, even if his face heats up and tears fill his eyes. Not responding the way Hannibal wants him to isn’t intentional, but rewarding.

H: I think you need more time..

Hannibal clicks his tongue and Will can register the sound of metal buckles before he cries, twisting and turning his head when the gag meets his skin again.

W: Wh- No! No! No, no, no, no-

H: Calm down, Will. You climbed those stairs before. You can do it once more for me.

Words aren’t enough. There’s not a tangible thought that would allow Will to even form them, and all he can do is scream as he’s silenced again. The gag isn’t painfully tight as it was earlier, but it’s no relief. He shakes his head frantically and thrashes wildly when he’s dragged along the floor. He swears the second he has full use of his teeth again he’ll take the opportunity to tear skin from Hannibal’s body.

H: You’re awfully dramatic, darling.

Will growls in response but when his legs slip down the first step he squirms back up again and is met with the warm stability of Hannibal’s chest. He presses into the crouching figure, sniffling quietly as he nudges in between Hannibal’s legs and nuzzles carefully at his collar. It’s not as much an affectionate gesture than it is to manipulate. Hannibal strokes through his hair and Will thinks back to the cage, whimpering convincingly into the doctor’s neck and trembling as he squirms closer.

H: My dearest.. If you crawl down willingly I will let you keep your auditory perception.

It takes everything in his power not to scoff, trying to imagine a world where Hannibal would ever kick him down a flight of stairs. He’s almost glad the blindfold won’t allow him to roll his eyes and he whimpers instead, sniffing and crying quietly as he shakes his head. 

H: No?

Hannibal’s arms snake around his waist and cuddles him close, and Will can sense the doctor’s prominent erection pressing up against his hip. Will shakes his head with a small whimper and suddenly wishes more than anything he could wrap his own arms around the doctor’s neck. Hannibal may be enticed by his suffering but the fact that Hannibal isn’t the only one weakened by physical intimacy is a disappointing realization, but Will nuzzles affectionately into his neck regardless.

H: I do admire your attempt. Such a cunning boy.

When the earplug brushes against the shell of Will’s ear in the most sinister threat is when he cries, squirming in sincere panic and trying to hide against Hannibal’s chest. To his surprise, Hannibal doesn’t use force, but rather keeps whispering loving words and kissing into his hair as the plug keeps prodding at his ear. Will shakes his head furiously and begs behind his gag but it’s useless, for suffocating silence soon smothers it all.

He pulls relentlessly at the ties around his arms when he’s lifted into Hannibal’s, wanting to grab on as tightly as possible as he’s carried down the stairs. Hannibal’s warmth soon slips away, and he screams Hannibal’s name when his knees meet cold cement. He wriggles forward, sobbing and desperate to find any sign of life in the silent darkness. There is nothing but his own heartbeat, rising menacingly again as he realizes he has no idea where in the room he’s located. That simple fact is all it takes to trigger another panic attack.

Hannibal had planned to leave, but as Will’s voice gradually become weaker with every strain it was too dangerous to do so. Will could climb the stairs again, they both knew it. What was the greater test was surviving without senses, and Hannibal was certain Will would either vomit or faint if he had to do it alone again.

He watches Will hyperventilate for a second or two before stepping closer, feeling a swell of pride by how Will’s breathing stills as he senses Hannibal’s presence and scent. Will moves forward again, and Hannibal smiles and waits patiently for Will to close their distance on his own. Will lets out a breath in relief and leans against Hannibal’s leg, nuzzling roughly at his crotch and whimpering hopefully.

Will cries when he’s pushed away, immediately lounging forward again and is met with Hannibal’s hands working his zipper down. Will whimpers desperately, over and over until the gag is removed. He wastes no time, eagerly swallowing Hannibal’s whole length and bobbing his head with a moan. He can feel his own orgasm edging closer, painfully hard himself as he treasures Hannibal’s every inch. He’s teetering on the line of unconsciousness purely out of relief and pleasure, and is right on the edge of climax when Hannibal pulls out. Will shuffles forward on his knees, panting and only feels frustration brewing as he knocks into the stairs.

W: Please..

Hannibal’s arms are nowhere near his body and the silence should be answer enough, but he persists on batting figurative eyelashes at the doctor to get his way.

W: Please help me, Hannibal.

Nothing. The bastard wants him to literally crawl for him. Will mutters but begins his journey of dragging himself up the steps. It’s significantly easier this time around, as air flows steadily down his throat to his lungs and with a promising reward waiting. He’s panting when he reaches the final step, and continues to pull himself across the floor until a gentle hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him up to his knees.

He finally relaxes just a bit when he’s guided to the soft carpet in the living room, and hums happily when Hannibal’s fingers brush through his hair as he carefully removes the earplugs. Will barely notices how the blindfold is removed as well, closing his eyes to relish in Hannibal’s soft kisses to his cheek.

H: Do you want your arms freed?

W: Yes. Thank you.

Accommodating is the word. Asking the alleged masochist if he would like to remain bound. Will can’t imagine himself ever being shameless enough to answer differently, which is why he appreciates his beloved sadist’s deep understanding that grants them both such freedom. Nevertheless, Hannibal persists Will evolves, but evolution or rebirth demands both time and effort.

Will smiles as Hannibal sits on the couch and leans in close to release his arms, pulling the straitjacket off and kneading carefully along his muscles to release tension. Will promptly wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist and squeezes tightly in contentment before running a hand down Hannibal’s hips and between his legs.

H: How are you feeling, Will?

The question only makes him smile, meeting Hannibal’s enamoured gaze with a matching one. Hannibal knows which buttons he’s allowed to push, and Will reassures him by leaning up for a loving kiss, appreciating how Hannibal remains still and lets him lead. He wants to tear the clothes off Hannibal’s body, but Will respects his boundaries as much as Hannibal respects Will’s. As crazy a thought it may be; Will has never felt unsafe in the hands of this man. And with careful touches, he appreciates the clothed parts of Hannibal’s body he’s comfortable sharing with Will.

W: Peaceful.


End file.
